


'Something is Rotten in the State of Denmark'

by chanderson



Series: Young, Scrappy, and Hungry [17]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bottom George, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Politics, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-10 09:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11124387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: Alex Hamilton may be a lot of things, but he never has been, and never will be, a loser. Come Hell or high water, George Washington is winning this election.But, as Alex sits there watching the rainy Florida countryside speed by outside the window, a thunderstorm building on the horizon, he gets the sinking suspicion that Hell may be coming sooner than expected.From across the bus, Burr meets his eyes and gives him a big, toothy grin.





	1. Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we get back to Whamilton? Please! Yo. 
> 
> HERE WE GO Y'ALL. Buckle the fuck up. 
> 
> Side note: the title of this fic is stupid, but I love Hamlet so fight me.

“James Madison sucks,” Alex mutters. “And you are like seriously tense, baby. You need to see a chiropractor.”

“You’d be— _oof,”_ George grunts in pain as Alex hits a particularly tight spot.

“No pain, no gain,” Alex reminds him as he continues to knead the sore spot.

George rolls his eyes and winces. “You’d be tense too,” he finally manages to say through gritted teeth, “if you had deal with James fucking Madison leveling humiliating personal attacks against you.”

Alex leans forward to press a kiss between George’s shoulder blades and gently strokes his side. “I know, honey. He’s an asshole and it pisses me off that his campaign is so negative. But I mean, what did you expect? Your legislative record is great and you’re incredibly popular, so the only thing he can do is attack your personality. It’s shitty politics.” 

George snorts and shakes his head. “You think? They’re digging up some real shit on me, Alex. They’ve got the medicine I take. If they can find that, they can find anything.”

George hears Alex sigh above him. “We’re careful, George. No one’s going to find out.” He snakes his arms around George’s waist and rests his head against George’s back. “It’s going to be okay.”

“It’s embarrassing,” George says softly. “The stuff they’re saying about me.”

“Does it hurt your feelings?”

George barks out a harsh laugh and puts his hands over Alex’s. “Putting it like that makes it all sound very juvenile, but yes, it does hurt my feelings.”

Alex squeezes George in a hug and kisses his back again. “It is juvenile. They’re acting like children.” 

George heaves a sigh and nods, effectively ending the conversation. He’s so tired of it; Waking up each morning to a grim staff huddled around the television as news outlets gingerly cover the grueling details of George’s personal life. Fox is of course eating it up; they’re Madison’s outlet of choice. His campaign eagerly spoon feeds the network their dirty work, and Fox eats it right up. Most of the attacks don’t even come _from_ the campaign. They dig it up, give it to Fox, and then capitalize on it, all while maintaining the outward appearance of keeping their hands clean. 

Except it’s obvious that they’re digging up the dirt. But no one can actually prove it. 

So everyday George is faced with the world knowing far too much about him. And for a person as private as himself—he’s always had a tight group of friends, opening up to only a few people—this is an altogether mortifying situation. 

Suddenly it matters less and less to some people that he’s a good president. One of the nation’s best, some historians say. 

Now what matters to the rabid Right Wing radicals and the Republicans looking for a way to be explicitly racist without _actually_ being explicitly racist, is his history of mental illness and the long list of medications he’s been on throughout the years. What matters is the PTSD, the depression, and the anxiety. What matters is the fact that the war ravaged him and his wife’s death almost killed him. 

What matters is the seeds of doubt the Madison campaign is planting in Democrats’ minds. 

_“If the president wasn’t emotionally stable enough to finish out his enlistment, then why should anyone—Democrats included—trust him to be our Commander-in-Chief.”_

_“He obviously had some sort of mental breakdown after his wife died. What if he has another breakdown while he’s president? He could destroy our country if he started to neglect his duties or got all crazy. Are we really going to let that happen? Democrats should think long and hard about this.”_

_“I’d say the guy is crazy, and Democrats would be smart to dump him.”_

His saving grace, though, is most Democrats’ ability to see past it. A lot of people, some Republicans even, are disgusted by the gross violation of his privacy. Refuse to acknowledge them because he’s done a damned good job as president, so who cares if he pops some pills in the morning? 

But George has never been so scared for his political career in his life, because if someone can get their hands on this kind of information? 

Alex is a dead man walking—a sitting duck with a shiny, flashy target on his back. 

Lafayette thinks they have a mole on the staff, which fills George with a sick sense of dread because he’s always valued personal loyalty. The fact that someone on his staff is somehow accessing his records and information and selling it off to the other side makes George feel sick. 

But he’s soldering on. Or at least he’s trying to. 

“Hey, George, you still in there?” 

George blinks as Alex waves his hand in front of his face, and he tries to put on a sheepish smile. 

“Yeah sorry. Just thinking over my schedule for tomorrow.” 

“You suck at lying, George. Come here and let me hold you for a little while.” 

George meekly crawls into Alex’s arms and tries to relax as Alex rubs his stomach and nuzzles his neck, but George can’t get his mind to stop racing, can’t stop imagining what could end up being the end of their political careers. 

George would be okay; he could survive it. He’s had ample time to serve his country, but Alex? Alex is just getting started and this would completely destroy him. He’d be laughed right out of D.C. because the way everyone else will see it, Alex is just a gold digging kept-boy who moved up in the ranks of George’s administration because he’s been the one warming his bed. 

It couldn’t be more wrong, but no one cares about the truth anymore. 

“George!” Alex says loudly, his breath hot on George’s neck. George jumps, startled, and Alex shushes him and rubs his stomach soothingly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but I can feel you shaking. Can you please just talk to me?”

“I’m just worried about you,” George whispers. “This could ruin your career.”

He can practically feel Alex rolling his eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic, George. And stop assuming that they’re going to find out about us. They’re not. We’re careful and the only people who know about us are Lafayette, Angelica, and Adrienne. Our friends. Your _best_ _friends_. We’re going to be fine.”

George doesn’t believe him, but he drops it for the night because he’s tired of arguing. 

Tired of everything. 

Tired of being president. 

But he doesn’t dare tell Alex that, because Alex made it clear that he wouldn’t love George if he wasn’t president, and George would rather suffer through public humiliation and the destruction of his career than lose Alex. He would rather stand toe to toe with all of his worst fears, his inner demons, than lose Alex. 

George has already lost enough for five lifetimes. He knows (from experience) that he wouldn’t survive losing Alex too. 

So George sucks it up and tries to keep his head up. Tries not to sink into the quicksand tugging on his ankles. 

“Everything’s going to be okay, George,” Alex croons. “I promise.”

George smiles ruefully. Why do the people who love him always make promises that they can’t keep?

*******

Alex is holding George so tightly that his arms are starting to hurt, but he can still feel how tense George is, the little tremors that makes it seem like George is vibrating beside him. 

So Alex resorts to the last way he knows how to help George relax, taking a bit of a gamble as he reaches down to cup George through his boxers. He hears George suck in a sharp breath and Alex starts to knead his crotch, smirking when he feels George hardening in his hand. 

“Someone’s a little eager,” Alex whispers in George’s ear, his voice low and husky. George pushes his hips forward to grind into Alex’s palm and Alex chuckles darkly. 

“Alex,” George breathes when Alex rubs his thumb over the wet spot on the front of George’s boxers before pushing his hand under the waistband, feeling the scrape of George’s pubic hair against his skin. They both laugh a little breathlessly as Alex fumbles a bit to get a proper grip on George’s cock. 

“Sorry,” he says a little sheepishly. George just shakes his head and makes a little whining sound that goes straight to Alex’s cock. Alex grinds into George’s ass, grinning when George’s hips jerk forward into his palm.

“Alex,” he says again. “Please.”

“Please what?” Alex whispers before licking George’s earlobe into his mouth. George groans and shoves forward into Alex’s hand again. 

“Do—” he cuts himself off and swallows loudly, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. “Do whatever you want to me. Just please do _something_.”

Alex releases George’s earlobe with a little pop and tells George to turn over and get his ass in the air, his voice firm and a little commanding.    
Alex fucking loves when he gets to be in charge. Loves watching George come apart underneath him. 

He has to tread a fine line: George doesn’t respond well if Alex gets mean or lets his tone get too sharp. But it’s always amazed Alex how George has learned to give himself up to Alex, handing over the control he’s always been so obsessed with maintaining. 

As Alex licks over George’s hole with the flat of his tongue, he marvels at how much trust George places in him. How much George loves him. 

He wiggles his tongue inside George, rubbing little circles into George’s hips to relax him. 

George is practically sobbing, thrashing his head from side to side as Alex slowly works him open, chanting Alex’s name like an ancient, sacred prayer. Alex lets it wash over him, the intensity of George’s love, the precious trust he’s placing in the palm of Alex’s hand. 

When Alex fucks him, George stares up at him, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. Alex slows down his thrusts and cups his face.

“You good?” he whispers. 

“I love you,” George says. 

“Is that a yes?” Alex asks with a bit of a smirk. “And I love you too. More than anything else in this entire fucking world.” 

George just nods and begs for Alex to go faster, but Alex just kisses him and shushes him. “I wanna go gentle on you tonight, baby,” Alex croons. “We’ve got all the time in the world. What’s the rush?”

George buries his face in Alex’s shoulder, and Alex tries to ignore the way that George’s hot tears burn his skin like battery acid. 

\---

They’re on the bus bright and early the next morning, and he hisses as he burns his tongue on his coffee _again_. All he wants is some damn caffeine. 

Lafayette quirks an eyebrow and Alex just glares at him. 

“Late night last night?” he asks nonchalantly, but his eyes are dancing with amusement, and Alex rolls his eyes. 

“You’re a perv, Laf.” 

“And you’re a bully.”

Alex rolls his eyes again and turns his attention to watching George in the front of the bus as they start moving, pulling out of the hotel parking lot. 

George is currently sprawled out on one of the couches in the front trying to nap. He didn’t get very much sleep last night, and Alex knows that he must be exhausted. 

Alex finally got George to relax after the sex and they fell asleep right after, but then George woke up from a nightmare feeling shaky and sick, and he couldn’t get back to sleep. Eventually he just got up and went to his own room so he wouldn’t keep Alex up with his tossing and turning. 

The bus pulls onto the interstate and Alex watches George curl in on himself. He’d recently started getting bus sick, which, to the dismay of the staff, justifiably puts him in a bad mood.

Lately it seems like George is always in a bad mood. The attacks coming from the Madison campaign and Fox are tearing him apart, and Alex feels completely powerless to stop them. 

But he puts on a brave face for George and does his best to soothe him when he gets upset. 

“Is the president okay?” Angelica asks as she sits down next to Alex. “Because he’s got 4 speeches to give today and several stops in small towns along the way. He’s gonna need to be on his A-game.”

Alex heaves a sigh and shrugs. “I don’t think he’s feeling well.” 

“He’s never feeling well, Alex,” Angelica says, a bit of an acerbic bite in her tone. Alex bristles and glares at her. 

“Things are rough right now,” he snaps quietly. “These personal attacks are really hard on him. I mean, how would you like it if your dirty laundry was aired for the entire fucking world to see?” 

Angelica narrows her eyes. “Don’t lecture me, Alex.” She glances around before leaning in. “You know that I care about George, but he’s going to lose this election if he doesn’t get it together.”

“You don’t put enough faith in the American people,” Alex spits. “George is a good president. He’ll win.” 

“There’s also a nasty stigma attached to mental illness in this country, and George has had repeated and prolonged problems with his mental health.”

“So you’re saying that what? Because George has some chemical imbalances in his brain, he’s not cut out to be president?”

“I’m not saying that, Alex. But other people are. If George doesn’t project strength, vitality, and happiness, he’s going to lose. He can’t keep moping around if he expects to win.” 

Alex grits his teeth and clenches his fists. “Look, you don’t know George like I do, so why don’t you just back the fuck off. It’s not his fault that he’s not feeling his best.”

“No, but it is his fault that he’s wallowing in self pity and adopting a defeatist attitude. In fact, it’s your fault he’s like this too. You enable him by babying him. He needs to get himself together.” 

It takes all of Alex’s self control not to start screaming at her. 

“Don’t lecture me on my relationship,” he hisses. “You don’t know anything about us, so don't act like you do. Just because you and George shared some little bonding moment back when I was in the hospital doesn’t mean you know anything about me, him, or our relationship.” 

Angelica laughs and shakes her head. “Whatever, Alex. Better polish up your resume, because a few months from now, we’re all gonna be out of a job.” 

“Fuck you,” Alex snarls as he abruptly stands up. Lafayette startles and looks over at them, frowning. 

“Everything alright guys?” Lafayette asks with a strained cheerfulness in his voice. He motions to Burr and Hercules who are sitting at one of the tables behind them and gives Alex and Angelica a pointed look. 

“Yep,” Alex says snidely. “Everything’s great.” He grabs his coffee and gives Angelica one last glare. “I’m going to check on the president.” 

He stalks to the front of the bus and stands over George, eyes softening when he sees him asleep with his mouth slack, looking more adorable than any man should have the right to be. 

To Alex’s dismay, he recently shaved his curls off, deciding to keep just a hint of peach fuzz on the top of his head. Alex misses being able to tug on his curls and play with them, but the buzzed look makes George look powerful and handsome, a little older in the best kind of way. 

Content that George is okay for the moment, Alex plops down on the couch across from him and tries to ignore the serpentine guilt coiling in his stomach. He shouldn’t have blown up at Angelica like that.

She’s right. (She’s always right). 

Alex does baby George, does let him wallow around and drown himself in self-pity. 

George needs to pull himself together because Alex is watching his presidency, everything they’ve built and worked so hard for, swirling down the drain. 

Alex Hamilton may be a lot of things, but he never has been, and never will be, a loser. Come Hell or high water, George Washington is winning this election. 

But, as Alex sits there watching the rainy Florida countryside speed by outside the window, a thunderstorm building on the horizon, he gets the sinking suspicion that Hell may be coming sooner than expected. 

From across the bus, Burr meets his eyes and gives him a big, toothy grin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok first, Bottom!! George!! Like can we talk about the development in their relationship/the level of trust they've managed to completely achieve despite all the shit that's gone down? Back at the beginning of this series, George had trouble even having sex w/ Alex and now he's totally and completely able to acquiesce control to Alex. Like I've mentioned George bottoming before, but in my head George was a lil bit of a power bottom, but now he's totally able to trust Alex and hand over control. Sorry I'm just a lil emo over my boy :')
> 
> Now that I've geeked out over my own damn character, I'm gonna go on and warn you that shit is about to hit the fan. (DAMN).
> 
> Yell at me in the comments; I love it.


	2. The Room Where it Happens

Aaron Burr first meets George Washington on a cold day in 2003. 

It’s before the equally cold day in 2006 when Aaron’s parents explode in a car crash. It’s before George Washington becomes a rising star in the Democratic Party. 

Aaron is just a boy—freshly 13 years old and still getting caught up and telling people 12—and George is 23 in his first year of law school. 

Aaron’s off school for some reason, probably one of those teacher development days, so his father brings him to work. Aaron knows his father is an important man, which is funny to him because to Aaron he’ll always be ‘Dad.’ But Aaron knows that his father is important, knows that he was the first black attorney general and is now president of the law school at UVA. 

So Aaron enjoys going to work with his father, likes playing and reading on the floor in his office while he goes to teach, likes getting to eat lunch and talk to the other professors, but it’s the end of the day and he’s getting a little bored.

That is, until a young man walks into the room with his arms full of books and his clothes in slight disarray. He’s tall and handsome, but he seems flustered and the stack of books he’s precariously holding in his arms starts to fall, the thick volumes sliding off and falling to the floor with heavy thunks. 

Aaron starts to laugh and his father shoots him a sharp look. 

“I’m so sorry,” the young man says. “Dammit.”

“It’s okay, George,” his father says smoothly, and he walks around his desk to help pick up the books. His father puts a hand on the young man—George’s—shoulder and smiles. “You can set those down on the couch by Aaron. He won’t bother them.”

George smiles tentatively at Aaron and puts his books down. “Thanks,” George says, partially to his father and partially to Aaron himself. Aaron chances a small smile, glancing over at his father expectantly. His father chuckles.

“George, this is my son Aaron Jr. Aaron, this is George Washington, one of my students. His father was my mentor many, many years ago.”

Aaron watches the way George’s smile falters for just a second before he brightens it back up. 

“Hi, Aaron,” he says, politely extending his arm for a handshake. Aaron shakes his hand and decides he kind of likes George. 

“Nice to meet you,” Aaron replies, giving George a more thorough once over. Aaron has always been observant, and he notices that George is trying very hard not to cry. 

George turns back to his father and nervously shifts his weight. His father smiles and motions to one of the chairs. 

“Have a seat, George.”

“Thank you, Sir.”  George sits down but he doesn’t relax. His back remains ramrod straight and he rapidly bounces his leg. 

“What can I help you with today?” 

George’s eyes flicker over to Aaron, and Aaron immediately drops his gaze down to the book in his lap. When he looks back up, George is focused on his father again. 

“Well, Sir,” George says softly, his voice purposefully low. Aaron feigns interest in his book but listens intently. “I, um, I was wondering if you could grant me an extension on one of my assignments.” 

His father is quiet for a few seconds. “Why do you need an extension?” 

Aaron looks up in time to see George cringe as his lip starts to tremble. 

“I’m having some… personal… issues and don’t think I could do my best work right now.” His voice is thick and husky, and Aaron watches with some amusement as George begins to lose his battle with his emotions. 

“I’m sorry, son, you know that I don’t just hand out extensions for any old reason. I’m going to need you to be a little more specific for me. This is a top tier program, George. If you can’t keep up with the caliber of work this program demands, then maybe you should think of transferring.”

His father’s voice is cold when he says it and a tears rolls down George’s cheek. 

“I’m having some mental health problems,” George finally whispers into his lap as he hangs his head in shame. “And I don’t—” he sucks in a sharp breath and his shoulders start to shake. “I don’t think I can finish your paper by tomorrow. I’ve been sick the past couple of days so I missed class and now I’m behind in my other classes and I just… I can’t do it all.”

George sniffs and wipes his eyes, and Aaron watches his father with amused indifference. He doesn’t know how he feels about George now. He doesn’t think his father does either.

“Do you have a doctor’s note?” his father asks, his voice void of emotion. 

George blearily looks up at him and shakes his head. “No Sir,” he whispers. 

His father crosses his arms and frowns. “George, you should know better. There are clear rules to follow when asking for extensions on assignments.”

“I know,” George says as a few more tears run down his cheeks. “But I’m not feeling well right now and going to my doctor was too much for me to handle.”

His father nods tersely and seems to calculate his response in his mind. “As a favor to your late father, I’m going to grant you this, but don’t let it happen again, George. I’ll expect you to either follow the rules or get the work done next time. Are we clear?”

“Yes Sir,” George breathes. “Absolutely. Thank you so much.” 

When George leaves, Aaron looks at his father and puts his book aside. “Do you like George?”

His father laughs and shrugs. “He’s nothing like his father, but I haven’t decided if that’s a good or bad thing yet. The boy needs someone to discipline him so he can toughen up, that’s clear, but I think he has big things in store for him. I wouldn’t forget the name George Washington if I were you, son.”

Aaron nods and ponders his father’s answer, as cryptic as it was. He still doesn’t know how he feels about George Washington, but he follows his father’s advice and files the name away in the back of his mind. 

_George Washington._

Not the kind of name people tend to forget. 

\---

When Aaron hears that George Washington is running for governor of Virginia, he almost spits out his coffee and his college roommate gives him a weird look. 

Wonders why Aaron gives a shit about the governor of Virginia when he’s registered to vote in New York. 

Aaron just shrugs noncommittally and keeps his eyes on the election. Watches the way Virginia eats George Washington and his beautiful wife up, the way they fawn over him like some American prince. 

Then Aaron watches the drama of Martha Washington’s cancer with feigned disinterest. 

But Aaron has always been observant and when he watches the governor’s press conference, he recognizes the look on his face as the same one he was wearing 7 years ago in his father’s office. George Washington is trying very hard not to cry. 

When Governor George Washington announces that he’s running for president, Aaron applies for press secretary, realizing that it’s going to be a bit of a long shot. He’s young, inexperienced, and unseasoned. But so is George Washington. 

When he gets the email that he’s been accepted for an interview, he catches himself feeling almost giddy, and he has to remind himself not to get too invested. 

He goes in for his interview, and despite his efforts to remain indifferent, he instantly likes Gilbert Lafayette. Though he gets the distinct feeling that Gilbert Lafayette doesn’t like him very much. Does he see the value in Aaron? Yes. But does he like him? Not so much. 

But Aaron doesn’t mind. A lot of people don’t like him, but that hasn’t stopped him yet. 

The most interesting part of his interview, however, comes near the end. 

Lafayette is carefully studying Aaron as he asks his last question: “How would you describe the press secretary’s relationship with the press? And what kind of relationship would you try to cultivate?” 

Aaron loves questions like this, loves to elaborate and show off his eloquence. So he launches into his diatribe, and Lafayette seems to be genuinely interested and impressed, the hard look in his eyes softening. 

Then Lafayette’s personal cellphone rings. He smiles sheepishly and pulls it out to silence it, but his eyes widen a bit, his gaze darting from the phone, to Aaron, and back to the phone. 

“Sorry, excuse me for just a second,” he says. 

He gets up and walks over to the window, lowering his voice. As Aaron listens in, he amusedly laughs to himself. People are always so bad at whispering. 

“George? What’s wrong?” Lafayette says urgently. He’s silent for a few seconds before taking a deep breath. “Hey, hey. Calm down George. Take a few deep breaths for me. You’re okay.” He’s quiet again and Aaron discreetly watches the way he nervously clenches his jaw. “I’m in a meeting but it’s almost over. I can probably be at your place in 45 minutes with traffic. Will you be okay until then?” Lafayette sucks in a sharp breath and Aaron quickly drops his eyes to his lap in case Lafayette looks over. “George, c’mon, you’re okay. I need you to try to stay calm, alright. Can you do that for me?” Lafayette makes a small, frustrated noise. “What would Martha think, George?” 

_Oh, now that’s interesting_. 

A few seconds later, Lafayette is grabbing his jacket and quickly telling Aaron that something urgent came up that he needs to attend to. Aaron just nods innocently and follows Lafayette out the building, filing away the incident in the back of his mind. 

\---

The second time Aaron Burr meets George Washington is in his campaign headquarters in Richmond. George shakes his hand and sizes him up. 

“I do believe we’ve met before,” he says, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Aaron laughs and nods. 

“You were at my father’s office one day, right?” 

Aaron pretends not to remember the details, both for George’s sake and his own. You never know when you may need some dirt. 

George’s smile looks a little more forced now, but he nods anyway and sits down behind his desk. “Yep. You were just a kid, which makes me feel depressingly old, by the way.” 

Aaron laughs politely and nods. “Oh, you’re not that old, Governor,” he says pleasantly. “And I couldn’t be more excited to be joining your campaign staff.”

George smiles at that. “Yes, well, we’re excited to have you on the team.”

He’s about to reply when there’s an impatient knock on the door and George’s face softens into something close to fondness. “Come in.”

“Hey Governor, I’m finished with those edits you gave me.” 

Aaron narrows his eyes as a guy most likely his age walks in, a ratty messenger bag swinging from his shoulder. He’s in black slacks and a wrinkled white button down, and his long hair is tied up in a messy bun. And, judging by the bags under his eyes, he probably hasn’t properly slept in at least 48 hours. 

But despite the utter lack of professionalism, George’s face breaks into a huge grin and he hops up to take the papers out of the guy’s hand. “Aaron, this is my head speechwriter, Alex Hamilton. Alex, this is Aaron Burr, our new press secretary.”

Alex gives Aaron a quick once over and turns up his nose. “Nice to meet you,” he says coolly. 

“Likewise,” Aaron says, shooting Alex a predatory grin. 

Alex just turns his attention back to George and gives him a radiant smile. “I’m headed out, but you can call me anytime if you have any issues with the speech.” 

“Thanks Alex. Have a nice night.” 

“You too, Governor.” 

Aaron watches the whole exchange with his patented, feigned disinterest. Alex and George sure do seem to like each other. 

And Aaron doesn’t know them very well, but Alex Hamilton seems awfully ambitious and George Washington seems prone to vulnerability, so there might be something there. 

Like always, Aaron files it away for another day. 

\---

Aaron has always been quiet and observant, a proverbial fly on the wall. People tend to forget about Aaron Burr. He’s studious and hardworking, but he doesn’t engage in braggadocio and he keeps his opinions to himself. He learned long ago not to lay his cards on the table all at once.

It makes him the perfect behind the scenes guy, the go-to ‘eyes and ears’ in any operation. He honed these skills through school elections, the perfect training ground for future politicians and political operatives. 

In another life, Aaron Burr would make an excellent Roger Stone, but he’s never liked the sleazy image of a wheeling and dealing political operative, so he chose to keep out of the shadows.

It’s so much easier to do dirty work when you’re standing in the light of day. No one ever expects the good guy. 

But Aaron Burr decides that he likes George Washington. Or, more accurately, Aaron Burr likes the office that George Washington occupies. And all Aaron has ever wanted is to be in the room where it happens. 

The Oval Office? 

That’s where the real decisions are made. 

So Aaron signs onto the Washington team and pledges his loyalty, promises to always do his best work. But his father always told him that loyalty is a tricky sentiment. Loyalty can anchor you to a sinking ship, and the ultimate goal in life is to always keep your own head above water. 

Aaron learned early on that he has to look out for himself, that he can’t rely on other people to be there for him, that his number one interest should always be taking care of himself first, and others second. His parents left him on his own and he had to learn to grow up, transforming from a boy into a man in the blink of an eye. He vowed to himself that he would never let himself rely on another person ever again, because people are unreliable and fallible 

So Aaron gives the president a breezy smile and lies through his teeth that he’s all in, a tried and true, loyal member of the team. 

\---

The more time Aaron spends in the Washington White House, the more he learns about the president. The more he sees. 

Aaron learns that George Washington is an emotional man, volatile at his worst and passionate at his best. He tries to hide it, but his heart is smeared across his sleeve and Aaron trains himself to read the president like a book. 

Aaron watches the president have an anxiety attack the night of his inauguration, watches the president as he flees the room and hurries upstairs, notices that Alex Hamilton follows him a few minutes later. 

One day, Aaron walks into the Oval Office for a meeting and catches the president cradling his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking the same way they did in his father’s office all those years ago. Aaron quickly excuses himself and pretends that he didn’t see the haunted, wounded look in the president’s eyes. But he did see it, and he promptly files it away. 

During a flight on Air Force One, Aaron notices Lafayette go into the presidential suite with an orange pill bottle rattling in his hand and a worried expression on his face. 

Before one of the president’s education initiative speeches, Aaron sees Alex slyly follow the president into the bathroom with a mischievous smile on his face, darting his eyes back and forth. Aaron just smiles to himself because Alex Hamilton must think he’s so clever sneaking around and following the president around like a puppy. 

And most recently, Aaron notices how jumpy and upset Alex seems to get every time the president disappears into the bus bathroom to get sick. Everyone else on the staff pointedly and politely pretend not to notice, putting in earbuds to block out the sound of the president miserably throwing up. But Alex? Alex sits there wringing his hands in his lap, glancing at the bathroom door over and over again until he finally hops up and casually announces that he’s going to check on the president. 

Everyone else just nods, apparently not giving a shit, but Aaron thinks back to everything he’s filed away about President George Washington and his loyal senior advisor Alex Hamilton, and he again thinks that there could be something there. 

Maybe if everyone else was as observant as Aaron, they would notice too, but no one bats an eye when the president comes out pale and sweaty with Alex Hamilton’s hand possessively resting on his lower back. No one acknowledges them when they sit close together on the couch, Alex methodically rubbing the president’s back and whispering to him as the president sips on a bottle of water. No one notices the little, closed mouth smile the president gives Alex Hamilton when he thinks no one is watching. 

But Aaron Burr recognizes that smile. 

It’s the same smile that Governor George Washington used to share with his wife. 

\---

It’s a quiet day at the White House when Aaron Burr gets a call on his personal cell from one Thomas Conway, Washington’s most notorious political operative, a staunch Republican, and one of the president’s most vocal critics. 

Aaron keeps his voice carefully blasé after Conway introduces himself. “Good afternoon, Mr. Conway,” he says. “Can I help you with something?”

“Actually you can, Mr. Burr,” Conway says. His voice sends a shiver up Aaron’s spine. 

“Okay,” Aaron says slowly. “And what would that be?”

“How would you like to serve as special counsel to the president?”

Aaron is a little taken back by the question and he falters. “I, um, I don’t know?” 

“Because you could do that, or more, in the Madison White House.”

Aaron’s stomach drops and he shifts his weight in his chair. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you help the Madison campaign out, we’ll help you after it’s over. We’ll give you access you wouldn’t dream of getting from Ole Georgie. Don’t you agree that you’re under appreciated? That you’ve been unfairly passed over for promotions? What’s the little immigrant boy’s name… Alexander Hamilton, right? He’s got the ear of the president even though you’re exponentially more qualified. A little unfair, if I do so say so myself.”

“Look, Mr. Conway, I don’t have time for this,” Aaron hisses. “I have work to do.”

“Preparing your remarks for the press? Where you clean up the president’s lack luster, Democratic agenda?”

Aaron swallows and nervously clears his throat. “Look, I don’t know what you’re on about, but—”

“Are you familiar with the term ‘quid pro quo,’ Mr. Burr?” Conway asks, cutting him off. Aaron grinds his teeth and takes a deep breath.

“Yes Sir, I am.”

“Well, I have a proposal for you.” Conway pauses and Aaron bites his lip. 

“Yes?” he asks quietly. 

“You give us dirt on the president and we’ll give you the world. We’ll help you do anything. You want a seat in the Senate? Done. With our help, you could be president one day. All you have to know is who to talk to and which buttons to push. Wouldn’t you like to have some _real_ power for once?”

_The room where it happens_. 

“I—” Aaron falters and nervously wets his dry lips. Conway chuckles darkly. 

“We could throw in other incentives too, if you would like. Monetary compensation is most definitely an option.” 

“If I were to help,” Aaron says carefully. “What would you need me to do?”

“Tell us anything you may know about sweet, innocent George Washington. Our guys will do the rest. The _real_ dirty work. Hacking and digging. You just need to point us in the right direction.”

“What if I don’t know anything?” 

Conway barks out a laugh. “You don’t work in close proximity to the most powerful man in the world without learning at least something about him. Plus, no one is perfect, Mr. Burr. And no matter how perfect little Georgie may seem, everyone has their secrets.” 

“Well,” Aaron begins. “I have noticed a few things…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES I'm sorry that I made Burr like super hateable, but it had to be done. 
> 
> I've yet to meet a professor who acts as shitty as Burr's dad did to George, but whatever. Like always I do what I want lmao.
> 
> Whamilton will be back in the next chap, but we needed this brief Burr interlude to set up the absolute SHIT that's about to go down. 
> 
> Sorry for the absolutely cliché chapter title / unabashed inclusion of lyrics lmao
> 
> Continue to yell at me it's fine I fuckin love it (it being y'all's suffering lbr)


	3. The Mt. Vernon Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the happiest you'll ever catch George Washington in one of my fics so enjoy it y'all. 
> 
> As the title implies, this is more of an interlude than a full blown chapter, but I assure you, it does serve a purpose within the plot

“Stop, Blueskin! Dammit” Alex shouts, his voice cracking. He’s gripping the stupid leather reins as tightly as he can and pushing his heels down into the stupid stirrups just like George told him to, but Blueskin obviously doesn’t care, because he just jerks forward, practically tugging the reins right out of Alex’s hand. 

George is patiently waiting for Alex up the trail, looking impossibly graceful astride Nelson, but he quickly frowns and tugs Nelson around. 

“What’s wrong, Alex?” he calls out as he urges Nelson to start trotting. He comes to an agile stop and reaches over to pet Blueskin’s nose. “Is he jerking you around?” 

“Yeah,” Alex huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. “I don’t think he likes me.”

_And I sure as hell don’t like him_ , Alex thinks snidely.

George is taking a much needed break from the campaign for a few days at Mt. Vernon, and this morning he’d practically begged Alex to go riding with him. They’ve been dating for almost 5 years now, and when George asked him, Alex guiltily realized that he’s never let George take him riding before. So, being the amazing boyfriend that he is, he decided to brave the outdoors and do something that requires real, physical exertion. 

And, to his dismay, Alex very quickly realized that he doesn’t like riding horses. 

He’s constantly being hit with the fear that he’s about to fall, the saddle is hurting his ass, and Blueskin keeps jerking the reins, which Alex assumes is his way of saying ‘get the fuck off of me.’ 

George pets Blueskin’s nose again and frowns. “He’s usually such a good horse,” he mutters, more to himself than to Alex. “You feeling okay, boy?” 

Alex sighs and tries to lift his ass up to relieve some of the achey stiffness, but it only makes Blueskin stomp his hooves. Alex yelps and quickly sits back down. 

“Maybe we should take him back to the stable?” Alex mutters. “I wouldn’t want to be out riding him if something’s wrong.”

George stares at his lap and sighs. “You hate this, don’t you?” 

Alex cringes and nods, twisting the reins in his hands. “Yeah. I’m really sorry, George,” Alex says. “We always do stuff that I like to do—”

“Like working and having sex?” 

Alex rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, George,” he says firmly. “I really wanted to do something that you like, but I just seriously suck at riding horses. And they kind of terrify me.”

“Alex, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” George murmurs. “C’mon, we’ll go back to the house and take a nap or something.” 

“Are you sure you’re not mad?” Alex asks as they start riding back to the stable. 

“One hundred percent,” George assures him. “I’m proud of you for trying.” 

They get the horses back into the stable and George effortlessly slides off of Nelson and drops to the ground. He starts to get Nelson out of his saddle, and Alex has to clear his throat to get George’s attention. George looks over at him with his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Can you help me get off?” Alex asks sheepishly. George instantly softens and nods. 

“Yeah, sure.” He helps Alex clamber out of the saddle and holds him up when Alex stumbles a bit, his legs wobbly after being still for so long. “Damn, you okay?” George laughs.

“Kind of,” Alex mutters. 

_The understatement of the century._

Alex doesn’t _do_ the outdoors, and as a result, he’s suffering: His left knee is throbbing, his lower back is aching, his ass is completely numb, he’s overheated and drenched in sweat, his arms and legs won’t stop shaking, he’s sickeningly lightheaded, and he smells like horse. 

He hates horses and he hates the outdoors. 

George chuckles and wraps him up in a warm hug. Annoyingly enough, George still looks like he walked straight out of an equestrian magazine ad. He’s in a tight blue polo shirt, tight khaki breeches, and tall, brown riding boots. 

Emphasis on the _tight_. 

“Sorry you had a bad time,” George murmurs. Alex smiles and shrugs. 

“It’s alright. I got to see you in your little horse outfit,” he teases and pinches George’s ass. George’s eyebrows shoot up and he smiles amusedly. 

“My little horse outfit?”

Alex rolls his eyes and watches George brush the horses down. “Yeah, you know, your tight little horse pants—”

“Breeches?”

“ _Whatever_ ,” Alex says, laughing. “It’s seriously hot. Make sure you take a pair of those back to the White House with you, because I’m totally going to make you cream a pair.”

Alex smirks when he hears George suck in a ragged breath. 

_Maybe horseback riding isn’t all bad._

After what feels like forever, George finishes up with the horses and walks back over to Alex. He looks happier than he’s looked in what feels like forever. Alex has always thought that happy is a good look on George. 

He only wishes that George could wear it more often. 

The campaign has been grueling so far, and George seems exhausted, spread thin between his job as president and constantly defending himself against the crude, below the belt attacks. 

Though he would never say anything about it, Alex has noticed that the lines around George’s eyes are a little deeper than they used to be. Knows that, if George let his hair grow back out, it would be lighter than it used to be, peppered with gray. Whenever George doesn’t shave for a few days, Alex will run his hand over the stubble and note the spots where it’s gone gray. 

The presidency is finally starting to take its toll, and it fils Alex with a sick sense of dread.

_He didn’t even want to run for president again and now it’s tearing him apart._

_He’s only doing this for you._

_He’s miserable and it’s all your fault._

Alex tries to push the thoughts to the back of his mind, but seeing George so happy only serves to remind Alex how utterly unhappy he normally is. 

“Alex?” George asks, cupping Alex’s cheek. “You okay? You’re looking kind of pale, sweetheart.”

“I’m just a little dehydrated I think. It’s hot out there.” 

George’s eyes soften into concern and he wraps Alex up in his arms again. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. I think I’ll live,” Alex jokes. George hums and kisses the top of Alex’s head. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

Alex doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing George say that. It still makes him feel giddy and breathless, knowing that George Washington loves him. It’s still exciting to wake up and see George next to him. It still makes him shiver when George sneaks up behind him to kiss his ear. And, sure, they’re both getting older—Christ he’ll be turning _30_ —but it’s still just as good. Better, even, than it was all those years ago.

And even though Alex’s ass still feels dangerously numb and his head is starting to hurt, he lets George wrap him up in his strong, warm arms and they start to sway back and forth in a quasi-dance. George rests his chin on the top of Alex’s head and Alex buries his face in George’s chest, not caring one bit that he smells like sweat and horse. 

Alex relishes the sound of George’s heartbeat strong under his ear and laughs a little breathlessly when George starts to hum, the sound reverberating in his chest. It’s so silly and sweet—so _George_ —that Alex isn’t even surprised when George maneuvers them into a proper dancing position. Alex just lets George spin and lead him around the stable, their feet kicking up dirt behind them. 

Soon Alex is giggling helplessly, and he watches as George tries to fight off laughter so he can keep humming. Alex pulls a funny face and George’s lips start to tremble as his humming becomes more strained. 

When Alex moves his hand from George’s shoulder to tickle his waist, George finally loses it and busts out laughing. Alex grins victoriously. 

“I knew I could make you crack,” he teases. “You’re way too easy baby.”

“You suck,” George laughs. 

“Damn right I do,” Alex says with a wicked grin. George just smiles and looks at Alex, his eyes going all gooey. Even when Alex feels a blush rising high on his cheeks, he can’t bring himself to look away.

In fact, they’re so wrapped up in each other’s eyes that they don’t even hear the quiet creak of the stable doors being opened and closed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex is such a lazy fuck when it comes to actual physical movement. I love him. 
> 
> Also, getting a little emo over the passage of time b/c my boys will be turning 30 and 40 respectively :') (believe I told someone Alex was 28 earlier, but he's totally 29 and I forgot to account for the time jump in my own fuckin fic)
> 
> Got a little 3rd person omniscient there at the end... some real shitty writing there but OH WELL. 
> 
> Savor this happiness (shrouded in internal angst of course, b/c nothing can ever be just ~happy~ when it comes to me)
> 
> I'm loving everyone's reactions to this fic LMAO.


	4. Two Sides of the Same Coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of Whamilton in this chap :'( 
> 
> Also, grammar and full sentences?? What's that? My use of sentence fragments is out of control. Sorry that I save all my grammatically correct writing for my academic endeavors. Y'all are sadly left with all my pent up, incorrect grammar.

When George Washington looks back on his life, there are certain days that stick out in his memory. He has a running list in his head, neatly divided into two categories: Good Days and Bad Days. 

He assumes that the good days are the moments that will flash in front of him when he dies. He’s already confronted Death once, stood toe to toe with him at the gates of Hell, but unlike so many others, George escaped relatively unscathed. 

But he wonders about the next time. He wonders what moments he’ll see.

Surely he’ll see a time when his family was whole. When George was small and had to crane his neck up to look up at Lawrence. Back before his father started drinking, before he was the first black senator from Virginia and he was just a law professor. Back when George was his precious baby boy.

His father would drive their old pickup out to the gardens—it was too far for George to walk without getting tired—and show George all the beautiful flowers, smiling down at him as he ran his small fingers over the papery thin petals. His father would take turns holding George and Lawrence on his shoulders so they could reach up and pluck apples off the towering fruit trees. 

George remembers the way his father would hold him on his lap at night and read to him from big, thick history books. George fell asleep cradled in his father’s arms with the tales of brave soldiers and famous politicians dancing in his mind. 

George hopes that he sees the long summer days spent outside playing basketball with Lawrence, sweat glistening on their bare chests. He hopes he gets to hear the way Lawrence’s breaths sounded even and clear and unobstructed as they played, bumping into each other in clumsy attempts to steal the ball.

George prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that he’ll see him and Martha curled up under the stars as they watched a meteor shower. They were laying on a soft blanket with their limbs twisted together, giggling and whispering promises and wishes in each other’s ears.

_I wished for two, healthy babies._

_I wished for a chance to grow old together._

And as George turns his head to watch Alex sleep, he knows that he’ll see him. Feels it deep in his bones. He knows that he’ll see them rolling around in bed together, tickling each other until they’re both red in the face and gasping for breath. Knows that he’ll see them stealing kisses in the Oval Office and empty campaign buses.

But he’s always been afraid that, when his day finally comes, these good days will abandon him and he’ll be left to relive the worst days of his life.

There are so many of them. Too many to count. 

The first time his father punched him, knocking George to his knees, laughing as George gagged on the blood that ran into his mouth. 

The day Lawrence died, coughing up thick mixtures of blood and mucus into the bowl George held under his chin.

The day Martha died, leaving George and breaking all those sweet, whispered promises. 

And George doesn’t know it yet, but he’s about to add many bad days to that list.

*******

Thomas Jefferson first meets George Washington on a stormy day in 1986.

Thomas is busy ignoring the other students running around in the gym for indoor recess when he sees a tall, lanky boy walk in. The boy’s head is hanging in shame as he nervously twists his shirt in his hands. It’s the first day of school and the boy is badly late, almost a full half day. 

A tall, imposing man has his hand curled possessively around the boy’s shoulder. 

One of the teachers looks up in surprise. “Senator Washington! Hello, Sir. This must be George?”

Senator Washington gives her a winning smile. “Sorry we’re late. George was a little nervous this morning.” 

The other students have already lost interest, but Thomas is paying rapt attention, because he knows who Senator Washington is. His father recently lost a senate race to Augustine Washington.

“Well that’s alright,” the teacher says pleasantly. “He’s just in time for some indoor recess. George, honey, you can go play if you’d like.”

George just shrugs and keeps his eyes trained on the ground. Thomas watches as anger flashes in the senator’s eyes. 

“George,” he says sharply. “Go.” 

George stiffens and nods. “Okay.” 

The senator’s arm is quick as lightning as he grabs onto George’s arm. “What do we say, George?” he says through gritted teeth. George gulps and shifts his weight. 

“Yes Sir.”

The senator’s face morphs back into a smile, and he pats George’s head of curls. “Good boy. Have a nice day.” He gives George a gentle push forward, and the senator turns back to the teacher. “He’s a little shy,” he says with a shrug.

Thomas watches as George shuffles forward uncertainly, his thick eyebrows drawn. For some reason, Thomas decides to take pity on George. Maybe it’s because they’re the only black kids in the room full of rich white boys. Maybe it’s because Thomas is also shy and could use a friend, even if he’s probably older than George by a solid 4 or 5 years. Whatever, he could do worse.

“Hi, I’m Thomas Jefferson,” Thomas says matter-of-factly as he strides up to George. George looks startled and his eyes widen. 

“I’m George Washington,” he says quietly. Thomas crosses his arms and cocks an eyebrow. 

“I’m guessing that you don’t talk much?”

George stiffens and opens and closes his mouth, a look of horrified embarrassment drawing his eyebrows together. Thomas tries to smile as nicely as possible. “I’m just kidding. It’s alright. I can be pretty quiet too. I usually just prefer to read while I’m at school. It’s a good way to make sure no one bothers you.”

George silently nods and looks around nervously, his eyes continually flickering back over to look at the door. 

Thomas purses his lips and crosses his arms. “Your dad isn’t coming back until the end of the day. That’s how school works,” Thomas says just a little patronizingly. George bristles and frowns.

“I know,” he says. “I’m not stupid.” 

Thomas laughs at that and pats George on the back. “Well then, you know what, George? I think that this is the start of a beautiful friendship.” 

\---

Thomas and George do become something close to friends, though Thomas figures that ‘friend’ may be a little too generous of a term. 

Really, George just follows Thomas around and hangs off his every word, which Thomas absolutely loves. He’s always liked having power, and exercising control over a gullible, shy kid half his age is a surefire way to get it. 

So Thomas lets George hang around because it sucks being the only black kids, and Thomas feels bad for George. He’s painfully shy and a little awkward, forever stumbling over his too-big feet.

And truth be told, Thomas starts to take a little pride in George. Once Thomas finally gets him to open up a little, he quickly finds out that George is smarter than his measly six—almost seven— years would suggest, and he instantly becomes a good conversation partner, the two of them diving into topics that the other boys would find boring. 

Thomas starts inviting George over to watch documentaries after school, and if Thomas’ father is wary of having his old competitor’s son over for dinner, he never says anything. 

George, however, never invites Thomas over to his house. 

About two years into their friendship, Thomas realizes why. 

It all starts when George starts missing school. 

Thomas and George always meet up for lunch and recess, but today, George is nowhere to be found, and after inquiring around, Thomas is told that George is absent today. 

When he misses another day, Thomas starts to get a little worried. 

After a fourth absence in a row, Thomas uses his home phone to call George’s house. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he hears George’s quiet voice on the other end. 

“George, where’ve you been? Are you sick or something?”

“Yeah,” George says nervously. “Just a little sick. I’ll be back to school soon.”

“George, what’s wrong? You sound weird.”

“I’m sick,” George snaps. “That’s the only thing wrong.”

The next day, George is back in school, wearing a jacket despite the humid, April weather. 

When they go out for recess, Thomas expects George to take it off, but he just trudges after Thomas to their usual spot by the swings and wipes irritatedly at the sweat dripping into his eyes. After several minutes of George looking uncomfortably hot, Thomas grabs the sleeve of the jacket. 

“Will you take this off already?” Thomas asks. “You’re all gross and sweaty.”

George physically recoils and wraps his arms around himself, trying to cover up a wince. “I can’t,” he says quickly. 

Thomas rolls his eyes and tugs at the jacket again. “You’re gonna pass out if you don’t take it off.”

“I can’t take it off,” George repeats, his voice sharp and acerbic. Thomas raises his eyebrows and cross his arms. 

“What’s going on with you?” 

“Nothing!” 

Except Thomas isn’t stupid, and he realizes that George Washington is trying very hard not cry.

“George,” he says a little softer, sometimes forgetting how much younger the boy is. “Is something wrong?”

George’s lip starts to tremble, but he shakes his head. “No,” he says shakily. 

“You know that you can tell me anything, right?” Thomas whispers. 

George glances around nervously. “Come to the bathroom with me.” 

Thomas frowns but follows George anyway, helps him charm the teacher into letting them go inside, George feigning feeling sick. 

George ushers him into one of the single stall bathrooms and double checks the lock behind him. “You can’t tell anyone, okay?” George whispers. “You have to _promise_ , Tom.” 

Thomas nods, nervously shifting his weight. “You can trust me.” 

George shuffles his feet and shakily pulls his jacket off. 

Thomas tries not to let the shock show on his face when he sees the angry, purple bruise on George’s thin upper arm. 

It’s in the shape of a handprint. 

When George lifts his shirt to reveal the ugly blue bruise marring the smooth skin of his side, Thomas feels a little lightheaded. 

“George, who did this?” Thomas asks once George puts his jacket back on. George stares at the ground. 

“My dad,” he mumbles. 

“Holy shit, George. You can’t, we should tell someone.”

“No!” George shouts, his voice loud in the small room. “You can’t tell anyone, Tom. _Please._ ” 

George starts to cry then, big gulping sobs that wrack his small frame. “Please don’t tell anyone. He doesn’t normally do this, I promise. This is the first time he’s used his fist. Usually it’s just a slap, and that’s not so bad.” George takes a sharp breath and angrily rubs his eyes. “I was acting up; I deserved it, okay? It’s _fine_. You can’t tell anyone, because my dad could lose his job and it would be all my fault.”

Thomas’ mouth is hanging open and he stands there staring at George for several long seconds before he gets himself together enough to wrap George up in a loose hug. 

The next year, Thomas’ father gets a new job in Richmond and he moves to a new school.

He doesn’t see George Washington again until they’re embroiled in the dirty battle of politics, but he never forgets that day in the bathroom. Never forgets the promise he made to George. 

Thomas wonders if George remembers it too. Wonders if they would still be friends if things were different, if they weren’t on different sides of the gaping political divide: Perfect imitations of their father’s political battle over 20 years before. 

Because, when you strip everything else away, Thomas and George? They’re just two sides of the same coin. 

\---

When James Madison walks into Thomas’ life, Thomas is still freshly grieving his wife’s untimely death in a car crash, trying to put on a brave face because he’s a politician and politicians can never show weakness, but James Madison doesn’t seem to mind. 

He's unlike anyone else Thomas has ever met.

He’s quiet and sickly, often times keeps to himself, but under it all he’s a crackling bolt of lightning—wicked smart with a quick mind and a sharp whit. Dangerous, beautiful, cunning, and kind.

Thomas instantly likes him, leans on him as he mourns his wife, depends on him to keep his head above water. 

_Needs_ him like he needs to breathe. 

So when they get drunk at Thomas’ apartment one night after a late-night session of Congress, it doesn’t come as a surprise to either of them when they end up in bed together, James riding Thomas’ cock until they’re both screaming each other’s names. 

And when Thomas wakes up to Jemmy cooking him breakfast, it feels so _right_ that neither of them question it. 

They never talk about it, never try to define it. It just happens. 

And if starts out as just sex? Over half a decade into it, it’s most definitely not just sex anymore. 

They both know it’s not just sex anymore, because James is with Thomas every step of the way during his presidential campaign. He’s there when it hits Thomas that he lost, and he holds him all night long, wiping away his tears and reminding Thomas that he’ll always be proud of him no matter what.

It becomes abundantly clear that it’s not just sex, because Thomas stays by James’ bedside every time he gets too sick to get out of bed. Thomas is there to hold him and clean up his messes, there to soothe his aches and pains. 

It’s hypocritical—they’ve both taken stands against gay rights—but it’s also beautiful and sacred and _right_. 

James Madison is Thomas Jefferson’s entire life. 

And before either of them realize it’s happening, they become each other’s partners in crime. 

What starts as some simple oppo, classic political dirt digging, quickly turns into something much, much more. 

\---

It all begins after James wins the Republican nomination. A simple phone call and gravely voice on the other end that draws them both in with promises of bringing down perfect little George Washington and his Democratic empire. 

The promise of power. 

Thomas Jefferson has always craved power, and George Washington already took it from him once. Thomas decides that he isn’t going to let him do it again. No matter what it takes. 

And if the image of the teary eyed boy that day back in 1988 crops up in the back of his mind? Thomas just blinks it away and focuses on the task at hand:

Taking the power that’s rightfully his, rightfully Jemmy’s. 

So Thomas arranges a meeting. 

It starts out innocuous enough, just a quiet dinner meeting at the Four Seasons. Conway orders a double whiskey neat, and Thomas orders a dry martini for Jemmy and himself. 

Thomas long ago perfect the art of small talk, so they sip their drinks and make idle chit chat until, after the waiter brings their third round of drinks, Conway leans forward and smiles. 

“So gentleman, I believe you know why I called you.”

“Opposition research,” Jemmy says smoothly, nodding. 

“Exactly.” Conway leers and takes a sip of his drink. The golden whiskey shines on his upper lip, and he reaches up to wipe it away with the side of his hand. “I can get a guy on the inside, one of Washington’s staff members, to point us in the right direction.”

Thomas keeps his expression neutral, but he does arch an eyebrow. “And how do you plan on doing that? Washington maintains a loyal, tight knit crew. It’s his leadership style.”

Conway just smirks and twirls a toothpick in his mouth. “Of course, but even Jesus had Judas. Every man, no matter how great, will always have a chink in his armor. I’ve already got the perfect guy scouted out.”

“Who is it?” Thomas asks. 

“Aaron Burr.”

Thomas sits back and glances at Jemmy, raising his eyebrows. Jemmy does a tiny shrug and just barely tilts his head to the right. They long ago perfect the art of silent communication. 

“Alright,” Thomas says, not turning his gaze from Jemmy’s eyes. “We’re in. Tell Mr. Burr that he better get us something good.”

“Is anything off limits?” Conway asks. 

Thomas finally turns to look at him and smirks. “Absolutely not.”

Conway grins wolfishly and they all clink glasses. 

As Thomas drinks, the little boy with his stomach painted black and blue briefly floats into his consciousness, but he quickly pushes the image away. That was a long time ago, and surely George Washington must realize by now that all’s fair in love and war. 

He went easy on George the first time around, but this time Thomas isn’t pulling any punches. Come Hell or high water, James Madison is winning this election. 

And as Thomas Conway tosses a few wrinkled dollar bills on the table and promises to give them a call, Thomas realizes that they are most definitely going to be bringing Hell to the American heartland. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes it's heating up y'all. (tbh I'm still low key planning what going to happen as I go b/c I'm a disaster so I'm very sorry if this all just SUCKS ASS)
> 
> In case you don't remember, it's briefly mentioned that Thomas and George went to grade school together in the story Chessboard. I picture them going to some small, super rich kid prep school where almost everyone is white lmao. 
> 
> In actuality, TJeffs and JMads were obviously younger than GWash but whatever. 
> 
> Historical fact: Jefferson's wife, also named Martha, actually did die and he took it super, super hard. So, the parallels you see here between George and Thomas are partially due to my own characterization/story line and partially due to actual fact. Neat, huh? 
> 
> I have no f-ing idea why I keep including religious imagery b/c I'm literally 0% religious but whatever


	5. Even Jesus had Judas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle tf up, y'all

Alex tips his head back to lean against the back of the couch and tries to look interested in his phone, but he’s actually just scrolling through his Twitter feed for the fifth time, sharing a few articles about George’s rising poll numbers and the latest jobs report to his official @alexhamilton account that he uses for work. 

He switches over and scrolls through Madison’s Twitter, just to see any dumb, Fox articles he’s shared, rolling his eyes at a bogus headline about George’s “oppressive environmental regulations.” Fuck Republicans. 

As Alex looks around, it seems like everyone else is _actually_ engrossed in either their phone, laptop, or tablet. Hercules is busy typing away on a speech, and Angelica’s reading a book: John Rawls, _A Theory of Justice_. Alex smirks to himself; he recommended that book to her last week, emphasizing how fucking great Rawlsian egalitarianism is. 

But Alex is only half paying attention to his phone because George is still in the bathroom puking his guts out, and all Alex wants to do is hold him and give him a kiss. 

Instead, Alex settles on digging the Dramamine that he’s started keeping in his messenger bag—specifically his _new_ messenger bag that George bought him as an anniversary present, because apparently they’re those kinds of people now—and carefully makes his way to the back of the bus, holding onto the backs of chairs and countertops as he goes. 

Lafayette looks up at him with mild interest, so Alex waves the Dramamine in explanation and Lafayette nods. Burr, however, is giving Alex a weird, hawkish look, and it makes Alex’s skin crawl. 

“Do you need something while I’m up, Aaron?” Alex asks, trying not to sound, as Angelica puts it, ‘hostile.’ 

Burr gives Alex a sickly sweet, pearly white smile and shakes his head.

“No, I’m okay,” he says, his voice carefully void of emotion like always. Alex forces himself to smile back.

“Alright, just thought I’d ask.” 

As Alex lightly raps his knuckles on the bathroom door, he can still feel Burr’s eyes on his back. Alex involuntarily shivers at the uneasy feeling of being watched. Especially by Burr. He has a certain _je ne sais quoi_ that’s always made Alex incredibly uncomfortable. He’s never asked anyone else if they’ve noticed it. 

From the other side of the door, George answers Alex’s knocking with a guttural moan, which Alex interprets as ‘come in.’ 

He slips inside the not-so-spacious bathroom, flattening his back against the wall and double checking the lock behind him. 

“Hey baby,” Alex says, his voice pitched low. “I brought you some medicine. Did you take anything before you got on?”

George shakes his head and takes a small sip of water. “I forgot,” he breathes. Alex rolls his eyes and hands him the Dramamine. 

“I’ll make sure to remind you next time. Take some of that, okay? Should make you feel a little better.” 

George takes the medicine and smiles tiredly. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Alex offers his hand and helps pull George up, grunting with the effort. He pats George’s stomach and gives him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Just so you know, you smell like puke and sweat. Maybe try to clean up a bit before you go and mingle with a bunch of donors?”

George laughs and affectionately pats Alex’s ass. “I will.”

Alex ducks out of the bathroom and jumps, letting out a small, surprised yelp. 

Aaron Burr is standing at the kitchen counter making a cup of coffee in the Keurig, nonchalantly leaning against the counter that ends at the wall with the bathroom. Burr laughs as Alex takes a breath to calm his racing heart. 

“Jesus, Aaron,” Alex mutters. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

“Sorry Hamilton,” he says, shrugging. “How’s the president?” Burr smiles pleasantly, but Alex narrows his eyes. There’s something about Burr—his posture? The look in his eye?—that’s making Alex’s spine tingle. 

“Much better,” Alex says coolly. He’s never liked Aaron fucking Burr. 

“That’s great to hear. He really shouldn’t be forgetting to take his medicine.”

Alex is about to breeze on by, already having his fill of Burr for the day, when he stops short. His conversation with George flashes in his mind. 

_“Hey baby; I brought you some medicine. Did you take anything before you got on?”_

_“I forgot.”_

_“I’ll make sure to remind you next time._

_“I love you.”_

_“I love you too.”_

Alex tries to keep his face blank, but he suddenly feels like the bus is an oven, slowly heating up to 350 degrees, and he has to hold onto the counter to fight off a wave of lightheadedness. 

He wonders how much Burr heard. 

Alex’s heart starts to slam against his ribs, because Burr is smiling smugly, just the hint of his teeth glinting from between his lips. 

Time seems to come to a stop, and Alex feels frozen to his spot, gripping the counter so tightly that his knuckles are white. He has no idea how long he stands there staring at Burr—2 seconds? 5 minutes? An hour?—but the spell is broken when Burr takes his cup of coffee off the Keurig, casually blowing on the billowing steam. 

“You’re looking a little pale, Hamilton. Maybe you should take some of that too,” he says as he slides past Alex, that same smarmy grin on his face. 

Alex is still standing there when George comes out of the bathroom, and George’s face instantly crumples with concern. “Alex?” he asks softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Alex hears himself saying. “Glad to see you back on your feet, Mr. President.” 

Alex tries to conjure up what he hopes is a boss-employee appropriate smile and turns sharply so he can make his way up to his seat, not giving George enough time to reach out and touch him. 

As they ride toward their latest destination—some other city in Florida; they’re doing a several-day-long bus tour of the state—thunder rumbles outside and lightning illuminates the gray countryside in a brilliant flash of blue.

They were calling for bad weather: Torrential downpours and punishing thunderstorms, but George was determined to see the Florida tour out. They’re due to fly out the day before it’s supposed to get bad. 

But as thunder booms outside the window as loud as a bomb blast, Alex realizes that the bad weather may be here sooner than expected. 

\---

When they finally make it to the conference center George is speaking at, they all high tail it off the bus, cowering under their rain jackets and umbrellas. They’re politely ushered into one of the smaller conference rooms that’s been set up as a sort of green room. There are a few couches, a table set up with snacks, and a couple of coolers filled with waters and sodas. 

Alex sits on one of the couches, still feeling dazed and numb from earlier, and George seems to make a beeline straight for him. Despite the hazy fog Alex feels surrounded by, he smiles at George when he sees a bottle of water and plate of crackers in his hands. 

“Glad you’re feeling well enough to eat,” Alex says distantly. George just nods and lowers his head. 

“Alex, what’s wrong? You seem upset.”

Alex can’t tell George before he makes his speech, can’t tell him that Burr overheard them. That Burr obviously knows _something_. It would freak him out, send him straight into a panic, so Alex just shrugs. 

“I don’t know. I started feeling a little sick. I’m probably just tired or something.” 

George looks at him uncertainly, but thankfully accepts his answer. “Okay, if you’re sure that’s it…” George takes a small bite of one of the crackers and wipes the crumbs off with his hand. “You know that you don’t have to sugarcoat things for me, right?”

Alex clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. “I know, George. Can you just drop it? Please?” he snaps, his voice coming out meaner than he intended it to. Hurt and anger flash across George’s face before he nods. 

“Sure. Sorry,” he says, his words clipped. “I’ll see you after my speech.” 

Alex groans in frustration as George stands up and stalks off, walking over to talk to Lafayette and Angelica. 

From his spot across the room, Aaron Burr has his eyes trained on Alex as he types a message on his phone. 

\---

Alex is extra careful as he slips down the hall to George’s hotel room, his stomach churning nervously the entire time. When he finally pushes inside the room, he locks the door and leans against it, letting out a relieved sigh. 

George is in the bathroom showering, and Alex can faintly hear him talking to himself. Or, well, most likely to Martha.

Sometimes it irks Alex when George does it, has long drawn out conversations with his dead wife. Maybe because it strikes Alex as a little weird. Or, more accurately, because it makes Alex jealous that George divulges personal information to some made up apparition in his head when Alex—a living, breathing human—is constantly begging George to talk to him about his feelings. 

Alex usually doesn’t like to listen in on George’s “conversations,” but Alex is still feeling shook up from his encounter with Burr, an uncomfortable feeling that’s starting to edge on furious, so Alex decides that he’s going to act just a little shitty tonight.

It’s a little hard to hear George over the shower, but since he stills think he’s alone, he’s not making any effort to talk quietly. 

“I’m kind of worried about Alex. I think he’s mad at me for some reason, and I know you’d tell me to just talk to him about it, but he hasn’t come to my room yet so I’m worried he’s avoiding me. And you know how awful I am with feelings. Sometimes I worry that he resents me for not talking to him more.”

George shuts the shower off, and Alex hops up on the bed, hastily shoving his earbuds into his ears so George won’t know that he was listening.    
A few minutes later, George is standing over Alex and playfully tapping the top of his head.

“Hey. Sorry I didn’t wait for you to shower.”

Alex shrugs and sets his earbuds on the bedside table. “It’s alright. I’m pretty beat, so I’ll just shower in the morning.” 

George nods and busies himself with pulling on a pair of boxers, giving Alex a brief view of his ass as he changes. As George crawls into the bed, Alex’s heart rate starts to speed up. 

_Tell him about Burr; tell him about Burr; tell him about Burr;_ **_tell him about Burr._ **

“I think Burr knows about us,” Alex finally blurts out. 

George freezes and sucks in a sharp breath, his hand suspended in midair, fingers just barely brushing the lamp cord he was about to pull. 

“ _What?”_

Alex cringes and tentatively reaches over to touch George’s shoulder. “He overheard us in the bathroom today, and he was so smug about it. It just… He gave off the vibe that he knows something.”

George slowly sits up in the bed, nervously twisting the blanket in his hand. “Well, that’s fine, right? Angelica and Gilbert know, and so do Tallmadge and Tilghman. They haven’t told anyone.”

“Yeah, but George, Burr is,” Alex waves his hand vaguely. “Burr is Burr. I’ve never trusted him. The way he was looking at me… It gave me the creeps.”

“I’ll talk to him,” George says firmly. “It’ll be fine.”

“ _No_ ,” Alex says sharply. “If you talk to him, you’ll only confirm what he suspects. Just—just leave it alone. Maybe he won’t do anything about it.” 

“Yeah,” George breathes. “Maybe.” 

“Hey,” Alex says softly, reaching over to cup George’s face. “Don’t worry about it, honey. We’ll be fine. I’ll always be here for you. I promise.” 

_We_ **_have_ ** _to be fine. George won’t make it through this._

George’s face contorts as if Alex just punched him and he shakes his head. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

Alex opens his mouth to respond, but George reaches over and tugs on the lamp to turn it off, plunging the room into darkness. 

“I love you, George,” Alex says as George loosely throws his arm across Alex’s waist. 

“I love you too, Alexander.” 

\---

It’s a little after two in the morning when Alex’s phone rings, shrill in the quiet darkness.

Burr’s name flashes on the screen, and Alex quickly extracts himself from George’s arms. He’s dead to the world and doesn’t even move. 

Alex locks himself in the bathroom and starts to pace as he swipes his phone open to accept the call. 

“What do you want, Aaron?” Alex snaps, keeping his voice as low as possible. 

“Meet me out back by the pool in ten minutes. I think we need to talk.” 

Alex’s blood runs simultaneously hot and cold as he throws some clothes on and slips out of the room, ignoring Tallmadge and Tilghman’s questioning glances. 

When he pushes the pool door open, he immediately tugs his raincoat tighter around himself and shivers as a gust of howling wind nearly bowls him over. He’s three minutes early, but Burr is already standing by the edge of the pool, looking down into the sloshing water, the surface interrupted by the pelting rain. 

“Why the fuck did you call me at two in the morning to meet outside in the middle of a thunderstorm?” Alex asks, raising his voice over the wind and rain. 

Burr shrugs and looks up from the pool. “I figured we wouldn’t be bothered out here.” 

Alex grits his teeth and pushes a strand of hair out of his face. “Well get on with it then. What’s so fucking important that you dragged me out of my bed to—”

“I know about you and the president.” Burr crosses his arms and Alex narrows his eyes

“What are you talking about?” he immediately asks, trying to feign an annoyed confusion. “Look, I’m tired man, can we save—”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Alex,” Burr snaps. “I have pictures. I know you two have been sleeping together since his first campaign, back when you were a speechwriter.” 

Alex’s teeth snap together with an audible click and his hands shake with anger. 

_He has pictures._

“What do you want?” Alex snarls “Money? Are you that fucking low?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Burr says calmly. “I’m just giving you a warning, a heads up, if you will.”

“Burr, what did you do?” Alex spits as he stalks up to Burr and gets in his personal space. “What the _fuck_ did you do?” 

“Gave the information to Thomas Conway and the Madison campaign.” 

Alex doesn’t even register what’s happening until his fist connects with Burr’s face. 

If the expression of shock on Burr’s face is any indicator, he’s just as surprised as Alex is. He just shakes his head and tenderly rubs his jaw. 

“I thought you’d treat me a little better than that,” he chides. “I didn’t have to warn you, you know. I could’ve just let the news hit and watch you and George Washington’s political careers crash and burn.”

Alex’s fist is throbbing and his heart is pounding even louder than the rain. George and he have already suffered too many blows to count: Alex’s mother and home, George’s abusive father, brother, and wife. And Alex has come to realize that George can’t survive another heartbreak. He’s made it abundantly clear that he’s just about hit his breaking point. 

Alex’s stomach twists and he tastes bile in the back of his throat. George will never forgive himself for ruining Alex’s career. It’ll destroy him, destroy _them_. 

Maybe it’s only fair that they get exposed like this, a healthy dose of karma for sneaking around and lying to the world about who they are. 

As Alex stands there staring at Aaron Burr, he’s thankful for the rain that hides the hot tears burning his cheeks. When he speaks, his voice is surprisingly steady. Lethal, even. 

“Why would you do this to him?” Alex asks. “What did he do to make you hate him enough to hurt him like this?”

Burr blinks and rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Hamilton. It’s politics, surely you two had to realize that whatever you have is a ticking time bomb.” 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Alex shouts. “What did he do to deserve this? What did he do to you?”

“It’s not personal,” Burr says casually. “I just aligned myself with the highest bidder. I took the opportunity I saw.”

“It is personal, Aaron!” Alex shoves Burr’s chest hard enough to send him stumbling. “George—” Alex’s breath hitches and he grabs the lapels of Burr’s raincoat in his fists. “He’s lost _so much_. His wife fucking _died_ , and now you’re going to take something else away from him?”

_He won’t survive this; I don’t think he can do it._

“Oh please,” Burr mutters. “He’s a politician, Alex. You’re just keeping his bed warm. Surely you realize that.”

“No I’m not!” Alex shouts, spit flying from his mouth. He shakes Burr, lifting him off the ground a fraction of an inch. Something akin to fear flickers in Burr’s eyes. 

“What—”

“I love him, Aaron, and he loves me.” Alex tries to stifle a sob as he shakes Burr again, his fingers starting to ache from how tightly he’s holding onto Burr’s jacket. “I’m his entire fucking world and you just took that away from him for what? A position in the Madison White House? Is that what they offered you?” 

Burr opens and closes his mouth, his eyebrows drawn. “Alex, I—”

“No,” Alex shouts, his voice coming out high pitched and tight. “You don’t get to talk, you son of a bitch, because you just—you’re about to ruin a man’s life for a job title. How’s that make you feel?” 

Burr winces and recoils, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

“I hope you enjoy working for Madison,” Alex spits as he shoves Burr away, sending him stumbling to the ground. 

“Alex,” Burr says quietly.

Alex shakes his head and stares down at Burr. “When’s the news going to break?” Alex asks dully, the anger leaving him in a rush. 

“Sometime next week.”

Alex nods, blinking away a mixture of tears and rainwater. “You can give your letter of resignation to me tomorrow morning. I don’t want you anywhere near the president.” 

Thunder booms overheard, rattling the glass in the windows, and the sky seems to completely crack open, the rain suddenly coming down in thick sheets, pounding the pavement. 

The wind whips around them, and Alex turns sharply, leaving Burr sitting on the ground, rainwater pooling in his lap. 

Alex’s bridge may be able to hold off fires, but hurricanes can destroy even the strongest of foundations. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SORRY
> 
> Tbh Idk how I feel about this chapter. Sorry if it sucks but I hate rewriting; I'm literally the laziest writer ever. 
> 
> I'll go back and edit this more in-depth later; sorry if there are any errors! 
> 
> Feel free to just keep screaming at me.


	6. Beware the Ides of March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little shorter. And emo.

George wakes with a start and blearily blinks in the darkness of the room. For a split second he forgets where he is and he has to take a few deep breaths to reorient himself. He rubs his eyes and watches the bright spots of light that bloom on the backs of his eyelids. He turns to make sure that he didn’t wake Alex up, but Alex’s spot in bed is empty and the sheets are cold.

As he’s reaching for his phone to send Alex a quick text, the door eases open and Alex slides in quietly. 

“Alex?” George asks softly. Alex jumps, his hand flying to his chest. 

“Jesus Christ, George,” he snaps. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

George winces and turns the lamp on. His mouth drops open in surprise when he takes in Alex’s appearance. He’s soaking wet and shivering, and strands of his hair are plastered to his face. 

_“Alex?”_ George immediately gets up and walks over to him, trying to help him peal his rain jacket off. “What happened? Why were you outside?” 

Alex jerks away from George, ripping the slick material of the jacket out of his hands. “Stop it, George. Just leave me alone and go back to sleep.” 

He pushes past George and goes into the bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the hinges. The lock moves into place with a click. 

George stares at the bathroom door, a sick feeling of dread settling over him. He hesitantly knocks on the bathroom door. 

“Alex, sweetheart, please let me in,” George pleads. He hates how whiny he sounds, but about a thousand alarm bells are going off in his head, joining in with the taunting self doubt he’s always secretly harbored about his relationship with Alex.

_Looks like he’s finally done with you._

“Leave me alone, George,” Alex snaps, his voice muffled by the door. “Why can’t you ever mind your own god damn business? You’re always so fucking clingy.”

George sucks in a sharp breath, trying his best to ignore the way the insult twists like a knife in his stomach. 

“I—Okay,” George says softly. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m sorry.”

Alex is stomping around in the bathroom, slamming cabinets, and George hears him groan in frustration. 

“And now you’re going to get all apologetic and sad like some wounded little puppy,” he sneers. 

George’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows nervously. “I don’t—” George takes a deep breath. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me, so I’m sorry for whatever I did. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Alex suddenly throws the door open and glares at George, his chest heaving. “Why don’t you ever get mad at me? I know you can. I know you’ve got at least _something_ you could throw at me. Some sort of insult. Why don’t you just fucking _say it?”_

Alex shoves George’s chest with a surprising amount of strength and George stumbles back in surprise. 

“Alex, I don’t want to hurt you,” George says slowly, holding his hands up. “Sure there are things I could say, but I don’t want to.”

“Why?” Alex shouts as he shoves George again. “It’s easy George. Watch.” Alex gets in George’s personal space and jabs a finger into his chest. “I think it’s ridiculous that you still talk to Martha as if she’s going to magically appear and talk to you; I think it’s stupid that you subconsciously live your life to please your dead father—”

“Alex,” George says sharply. “That’s enough.” Alex just sneers and shoves George’s chest again. 

“You gonna cry about it?” he taunts. 

George clenches his fists and bites his lip so hard that he tastes tangy, metallic blood on his tongue. 

_Yes._

“No,” George says through gritted teeth. His heart is pounding hard and fast in his chest and he feels dizzy, Alex’s words hitting him like sucker punches in the gut. 

“Whatever you say, Georgie—”

“Don’t call me that,” George snaps, the words out of his mouth before he realizes he’s saying them. No one calls him Georgie anymore, not since Martha, and it sounds strange and twisted coming out of Alex’s mouth. George’s lip is starting to tremble and he bites down hard again. Alex must notice because he smirks. 

“I knew you’d cry about it. You always cry.” 

“Why are you doing this to me?” George whispers, his voice embarrassingly shaky. Alex is right; he always fucking cries. 

Alex opens and closes his mouth, faltering, and George watches as Alex’s face contorts in pain. “I needed to hurt you to get you away from me.”

“Why?” George asks helplessly. “Alex… What’s wrong? What did I do to you?”

“Nothing!” Alex shouts, his voice breaking. “You didn’t do anything, George.” Alex starts to cry and George reaches out for him, his chest aching, but Alex steps away and holds his hands up. “Don’t touch me, George. You can’t. _We_ can’t.”

“Alex please,” George begs. “You’re scaring me.”

“Aaron is selling us out to the press and Madison’s campaign,” Alex finally shouts. “It’s over, George, and I thought that, if I hurt you, it wouldn’t be so bad that we had to end it. That you would be angry and leave me on your own.”

The breath catches in George’s throat and he makes a strangled, moaning sound. 

“No,” George whispers. “He wouldn’t—”

“He already did!” Alex shoves George again and the backs of George’s legs hit the bed frame. “Don’t you get it? Didn’t you hear me? It’s over!”

George clenches his jaw and sits down on the bed, hunching over. He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to punch Aaron Burr’s traitorous, back stabbing face. 

Perhaps it’s been a long time coming, his eventual demise. 

Does he sit back and let it happen? Watch the world burn around him from the comfort of his own home, the Potomac stretched out in front of him, glistening in the late afternoon sun. 

Does he stand up and fight it? Facing the traitors like Caesar never could? The first rule of scandal management: Deny, deny, deny. 

Or does he own it? Let the honest truth pour out of him, beg the American people to see that what he has is good and wholesome. Sacred, even. That Alex is his touchstone, his anchor, his saving grace? 

He is perched on the helm of a sinking ship, a raging fire devouring its wooden frame. 

And then there’s Alex, his sweet, darling boy. An orphaned immigrant with no one to go home to but George. George knows that he is the sun in the middle of Alex’s solar system. 

They need each other like a dying man needs water. 

George would rather die than live a single day without Alex. He’s served his country, sacrificed and bled in the name of the United States. He could go away, even in disgrace, knowing that he gave it his all. That he didn’t let his country down. 

But Alex? 

He has so much time left. So much time and so much talent. So much passion. 

And now it’s all going to be over. He’ll be known as the gay lover of President George Washington. Nothing less and nothing more. 

What’ll they call the scandal? 

Will they keep it simple? _The Alexander Hamilton Scandal_ , or maybe just _The Hamilton Scandal._

Or will they get cute? _Alex-gate, Hamilton-gate._

_The Hamilton Affair_. That also has a nice ring to it. 

In history books, they’ll be reduced to a scandal that isn’t even a scandal. At least not to them. George will try to explain that this isn’t some Monica Lewinsky situation, but no one will listen.

Alex got a promotion, and that’s what everyone will hang onto. That adds a whole new level, a could-be-illegal frame that the Republicans will jump on. 

No one will believe him when he insists that Alex got the promotion because he’s _good_ , a genius, one of the hardest working men George has ever met. The embodiment of the long-dead American Dream that the Republicans love to boast about. 

After this, Alex and George will be reduced to a bad cliché and a paragraph in a history book that makes students snicker. They’ll glance over the paragraphs about George’s policies: Gun control, climate change, education, anti-terrorism. No one will give a shit about any of it. Their interest might be piqued by the assassination attempt. But the real story will always be that George was secretly bisexual and entered into a relationship with one of his staff members. 

Conservatives will drag George through the mud, claim that Martha—his beautiful, perfect Martha—was only a beard, because apparently the entire notion of bisexuality is just too hard for people to comprehend. 

It will come out that Gilbert and Angelica helped them conceal it and their careers will also be ruined. They’ll be pegged as liars, co-conspirators. 

George is standing on a sinking ship, fire licking at his heels, and he feels powerless to do anything about it. 

But he also feels a certain calm because he’s been here before. He’s watched his world burn before. He’s no stranger to fires or sinking ships. 

He’s always tried to fight it, the flames that lick his hands like a hungry dog. 

Maybe he won’t fight it this time. 

Without Alex there isn’t really a point, and George knows that this will tear them apart. 

It will tear them apart because George will be crushed by the guilt of ruining Alex’s career. He won’t be able to look at Alex without seeing all the wasted potential. 

It will tear them apart because they’ll never be left alone. Everywhere they go they’ll be the lying, gay president and his immigrant kept-boy. 

Even though Alex’s harsh words are still ringing in George’s ears, George wraps him up in his arms and rocks him as he cries, pleading for forgiveness. 

_Alex blames himself_. 

George almost laughs because of course they’re each going to claim the blame, even though no one is to blame but the ambitions of bitter men. 

“I’m so sorry, George. I’m so sorry,” Alex says, his tears burning George’s chest. George doesn’t know if he’s apologizing for the things he said or for the inevitable end of the life that they’ve managed to build together. 

George realizes that it doesn’t matter because there’s not enough time left to be angry. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Alex. I promise. I forgive you.”

“It’s not okay,” Alex sobs, shaking his head. “It’s not okay.”

George’s breath hitches and his eyes blur with tears. “I love you, Alexander. Don’t ever forget that okay?”

“I love you too, George. More than anything.” 

They lay down facing each other, limbs tangled together, breath hot on each other’s faces. 

George kisses Alex’s bruised knuckles, huffing a laugh after Alex recounts his altercation with Burr. 

_Aaron Burr_. 

Who would’ve suspected quiet, pleasant Aaron Burr? 

Maybe that’s the point. 

No one ever suspects one of their own, but all great men have enemies. Jesus had Judas, Leonidas had Ephialtes, and Caesar had Brutus. 

George couldn’t remain immune to backstabbing ambitions forever. He should’ve known better. 

He should’ve prepared himself, headed the warnings that history has to offer.

He should’ve remembered: 

_“Beware the Ides of March.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how I feel about this chapter honestly. I don't love the beginning, so I'm sorry if it like seriously sucks. This chapter was honestly kind of hard to write :/ 
> 
> The nerd inside of me had to include the Shakespeare quote and historical references. 
> 
> JFC @Alex for his horrible, stupid plan to somehow hurt George enough to get him to leave. He was too upset/not thinking clearly enough to realize that that is literally the dumbest idea ever. 
> 
> Hope y'all are enjoying this stupid shit show.


	7. Mutually Assured Destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus an unlikely hero emerged...

Thomas is sipping a cup of coffee in his customary spot at the table in the back of the plane when Jemmy walks up, looking handsome in the well-tailored navy blue suit that Thomas got him as a birthday present last year. 

“Morning, Tommy, that better be decaf,” he says as he sits down next to Thomas. “You know what the doctor said.”

Thomas rolls his eyes and takes a pointed sip of his coffee. “I’m 45, not 60, Jemmy. I don’t think a single cup of coffee in the morning is going to kill me.”

“When your heart gives out, don’t come crying to me,” Jemmy quips as he grabs the TV remote and turns on the TV mounted on the wall. 

Thomas almost spits his coffee out when he sees the breaking news headline on the chyron. 

PRESS SCY. AARON BURR RESIGNS, REPLACED BY DEP. TOBY LEAR

“Holy shit,” Jemmy says. “Do you think Washington knows about Conway?”

“He must.” Thomas sets his mug down and adjusts his tie. “Well, I’m assuming Burr will be joining our campaign soon.”

“He’s meeting us tomorrow, actually.”

Thomas and Jemmy both look up as Conway strolls up, looking obnoxious in a black and white pinstriped suit that’s too big for him, baggy in all the wrong places. His jet black hair is gelled back off his forehead, making him look like some bad 20s gangster imitation.

“Nice suit,” Thomas says dryly. Conway smiles gamely, the insult sliding right off. 

“I was just going to come inform you of the good news, but I see that you’ve already heard.”

“Did he resign, or did he _resign_?” Jemmy asks. 

“Are you asking if he got fired?” Conway asks as he plops down in the seat across the table from them. Jemmy purses his lips and nods, which earns a big, shit-eating grin from Conway. 

“A certain Alexander Hamilton demanded his resignation. All the better, really. It’s about time we integrate Burr into the staff.”

“Right,” Jemmy says slowly. “And why did he ‘resign?’” He accents his question with air quotes. Conway grins again, absently reaching up to smooth back his hair. 

“He gave ole King George a little warning about our next big reveal.” 

“What do you mean?” Thomas asks irritatedly.

“I mean that Mr. Burr found the motherlode, gents. I hope you’re ready to be president, Congressman.” 

Jemmy narrows his eyes. “What the hell did Burr find?”

“May I?” Conway asks in response, motioning to the laptop that Thomas has resting by his elbow. Thomas nods and opens it up before sliding it over to Conway. He promptly plugs in a black flash drive and pushes the laptop back over, smirking. “He found that.”

Thomas’ stomach drops when he sees the picture. 

It’s President Washington and Alex Hamilton embracing in what looks like a horse stable— _Probably Mt. Vernon_ , Thomas thinks to himself. He clenches his jaw and glances over at Jemmy. 

“There are more pictures,” Conway says a little too enthusiastically, obviously miffed by their lack of response.

“I don’t care,” Thomas says curtly. “We’re not using it.” He ejects the flash drive and curls his fingers around it. Conway sputters, his eyes widening. 

“What the fuck do you mean we’re not using it?” he asks, his voice coming out indignantly squeaky. 

“Tom,” Jemmy murmurs. Thomas snaps his head over and glares at Jemmy. 

“We’re _not_ using this.”

“And why the fuck not?” Conway growls. “This right here? This is career ending. I thought you wanted to unseat ole King Georgie, take back what should be yours?”

“I want to beat him, not ruin his life,” Thomas snaps. “This is low.”

“I asked, and you said that nothing was off limits.” Conway levels him with what must be his ‘intimidating stare,’ but Thomas just grits his teeth and picks his mug back up. 

“We’re done here. Are there other copies of the pictures?”

Conway looks like he wants to say something else, but he only shakes his head and stands up, brushing his godawful suit down. “No. That’s it.” He doesn’t meet Thomas’ eyes when he says it.

“Good. Do _not_ leak this to the press. If you do, I’ll make sure that you’ll never get to show your face in Washington again,” Thomas says coldly. Conway shrivels under Thomas glare. 

_Good_. 

Conway slinks away, back toward the front of the plane where the other staff members sit. Jemmy immediately turns to Thomas, his mouth quirked into an annoyed frown. 

“What the hell are you doing, Tom? This is our chance, baby.”

“Jesus Christ, James,” Thomas snaps. “How could you live with yourself if you used this against him?”

“Tommy, I just want us to win. It’s like you always say, politics is a dirty business.”

“I’m not going to out another gay man, Jemmy. And I can’t believe that you would even consider doing it. It’s disgusting; it’s _wrong_.”

Jemmy winces and nervously drums his fingers on the table. “This might be my only chance to win, Tommy. I can’t throw away this shot. Don’t you want to beat his self righteous little liberal ass and take back what should’ve been ours four years ago?”

“If it means ruining his life? No, James.” Thomas clenches his fists and takes a deep breath. “Imagine if our roles were reversed. Surely you must realize that Washington and Alex are just like us. I can’t imagine losing you, Jemmy, and if we use this against Washington, he’ll lose everything.”

Jemmy bites his lip and shifts his weight. “I still say we keep our options open.”

Thomas shakes his head, his stomach churning. “I can’t look at you right now,” he spits. “You’re being disgusting right now, James. I can’t fucking believe you would even consider using this against him.”

“Tommy—”

“Don’t,” Thomas snaps. “I’m calling the president to tell him that he doesn’t have anything to worry about. We’re _not_ using this.”

Thomas stalks away, sitting in one of the seats that line the wall. He calls Gilbert Lafayette. 

As the phone rings, Thomas can’t help but think about the bruised little boy in the bathroom stall with tears and snot dripping down his face. 

When Lafayette answers, his voice is sharp. “Senator Jefferson,” he growls. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Calling to beg us to take that little shit Burr back already?” 

Thomas winces. “I need to talk to the president. It’s urgent.”

Lafayette barks a harsh laugh. “What could you possibly have to say to him?”

In the background, Thomas faintly hears George’s voice snapping at Lafayette, asking for the phone. Thomas waits patiently, and a few seconds later he hears George Washington drag in a ragged, tired sigh. 

“Hello Tom,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse. Like he’s been crying. 

“Good morning, Mr. President.” 

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence as Thomas struggles to come up with what to say. He finally takes a deep breath and licks his dry lips. “Look, Mr. President, we’re not using it.” A pause. “What Burr gave us.”

George sucks in a sharp breath, the air whistling through the phone. “Why?” His voice sounds strangled. 

“Because I’m not in the business of destroying people’s lives.”

“Why should I believe you?” George hisses. 

“Mutually assured destruction,” Thomas says, the words leaving his mouth before he can think too much about it. 

There’s a pause as George mulls his words over. “What do you mean?” he finally asks. 

“A year after my Martha died, I started dating James. We’ve been together for almost 7 years now.” Thomas exhales slowly. “I guess you could say that you and I are one in the same. I know what it’s like to lose everything and find it again in someone that you can’t openly be with.”

George isn’t saying anything, but his breathing is loud and ragged. Thomas smiles. Even after all these years, it’s still obvious to him. 

George Washington is trying very hard not to cry. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” Thomas says gently. “And if it ever does get out, I’ll support you.”

“Thomas,” George whispers, his breath hitching. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Mr. President.” Thomas absently chews his lip and fiddles with his tie. “And listen, about the other stuff—”

“My entire medical history?” George mutters. Thomas winces. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I’m sorry. That was—it’s all been shitty politics. If you get re-elected, I’d be honored to work on some bipartisan mental health legislation with you and your administration. I think it’s an issue that we could all get behind.” 

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” George says honestly. “I’ve never known you to be one to apologize.” 

“I suppose there’s a first time for everything.” 

George chuckles and Thomas can almost picture his tentative, hopeful smile. 

“Thank you, Thomas.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. President. I swear to God that your secret will be safe with me.”

“I know. You’ve kept my secrets before.” 

They sit there on the phone breathing in tandem and Thomas’ mouth twists into a smile. 

Maybe in another life he could date George Washington. 

The thought almost makes him laugh out loud. 

“I’m sorry for any pain this has caused you.”

“Thanks. Tell James that I said good luck. He really is a formidable opponent.” 

“Will do. See you at the next debate, Mr. President.” 

The line goes dead and Thomas briefly turns to stare out the window as they start to roll down the runway, preparing for takeoff. 

It feels odd, knowing that someone else knows about James and him. Thomas has never talked about it before, never really said it out loud. He wonders who George talks to, if he’s brave enough to discuss Alex with other people. He must be, because Gilbert Lafayette obviously knows. 

Plus, George Washington has always been brave. 

He’ll deny it to his grave, but no one survives as much as he has without an inherent bravery, the kind of bravery you’re born with. Men like George Washington? They’re not taught to be brave. It comes from somewhere inside of them. 

Thomas isn’t one of those men. 

But maybe, after today, he could be considered a good one. 

It’s never too late to repent. 

When Jemmy walks up, he smiles tiredly and sits next to Thomas. “Tommy, baby, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. 

“It’s okay, love,” Thomas whispers. “I know how badly you want to win this.” 

“I love you Tom.”

“I love you too, Jemmy.” 

Jemmy smiles crookedly and Thomas can feel himself melting. He’s always been a sucker for Jemmy’s smile. 

“Did you talk to the president?” he asks.

Thomas nods and reaches over to squeezes Jemmy’s hand. “Yeah.”

“That’s good,” Jemmy says softly, looking down at their hands as he squeezes back. “I’m sorry that I even—that I considered using those pictures. You’re right, it would be hypocritical and disgusting to out another… another gay man.”

Thomas smiles and kisses the side of Jemmy’s head. “Exactly.” 

They lapse into a comfortable silence as the plane takes off, Jemmy’s hand tightening slightly in his own. He’s always been afraid of takeoff. Thomas smiles fondly and presses another soft kiss to Jemmy’s head. 

“Don’t be nervous. It’s almost over,” Thomas reminds him. He always does. 

Jemmy just smiles and cups Thomas’ cheek, dragging him into a tender kiss. 

Even if Thomas isn’t a brave man, at least he’s loved. 

\---

As soon as they land, Thomas switches his phone off of airplane mode and waits for everything to load. He’s immediately bombarded with notifications: Texts, missed calls, news updates. 

Beside him, Jemmy gasps. 

“Oh my God, Tom.” 

Right as Jemmy says it, Thomas gets a _New York Times_ update: 

_BREAKING: Photos released Tuesday morning show President George Washington embracing senior advisor Alexander J. Hamilton. According to an unnamed source from inside the Washington White House, Mr. Washington and Mr. Hamilton have allegedly been in a relationship since 2015. The Times is unable to independently verify that information at this time._

“Thomas Conway is a fucking dead man!” Thomas snaps. “I _told him_ not to use it. He must’ve lied to me when he said there was only one copy. God, why the fuck did I believe him?” Thomas grinds his palms into his eyes and groans. “We need to make a statement right now. Where the fuck is Charles? I need him to set up interviews with Wolf Blitzer and Jake Tapper. You’ll do Wolf at one, and I’ll do Jake at four. Then I need to call George. Oh my God, I promised him, Jemmy—”

“Thomas,” Jemmy says sharply, reaching over and grabbing Thomas’ arm. “Calm down, baby. You’re panicking. It’s going to be okay. This isn’t our mess to fix.”

“Yes it is!” Thomas shouts, ripping his arm away. “This is our fault, Jemmy. I told George that I would support him if the news broke.”

Jemmy bites his lip and shifts his weight. “Tom, how’s that gonna look to the base? Deep red states aren’t gonna take kindly to you going out and saying how great it is that our president has a gay lover.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the voters in the deep red states,” Thomas snaps. “I care about the men whose lives we’re about to _ruin_.” 

Jemmy recoils, and Thomas stands up, brushing his suit down. “I know that you don’t like Washington,” Thomas says, looking down at Jemmy. “And honestly, I don’t really know how I feel about him. I hate that he beat me, and I hate most of his policies, but I know him, know things about him that most people don’t.” Thomas takes a deep breath and smooths his hair down. “He’s scared, James. I know that he’s scared because I’ve heard him scared before. I can’t let him go down for this. Not when it could easily be me or you. I just can’t do that.”

Jemmy stares at him with a mixture of hurt and longing. “I’m going to lose the presidency if you do this. You know that, right?”

Thomas swallows and nods. “I know, but this is about more than the Oval Office. This is a man’s life, and I won’t be able to live with myself if I let him go down in flames.” Thomas takes another deep breath and cups Jemmy’s face. “And I told him about us,” he says softly. “He knows.”

Jemmy’s eyes widen and he jerks away from Thomas.

“You _told him_?” He asks, horrified. “Why?”

“It’s mutually assured destruction.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh S H I T 
> 
> I mention a chyron toward the beginning in reference to the CNN headline, the chyron is the big caption box that's superimposed on the bottom third of the screen in TV news. (sorry I'm a big ass journalism nerd. I'm obsessed w/ CNN)
> 
> Bet y'all didn't see TJeffs stepping up to the plate huh? Tbh, it would almost make more sense canonically (as in legit historically) to have Madison in Jefferson's position in this fic, b/c Madison and Washington were really very close before partisan politics tore everyone apart, but oh well. 
> 
> Tbh, Madison has some low key very internalized homophobia here. It most likely stems from the fact that, while Thomas is bi and has dated/been married to women, James is gay and has only ever wanted men, which probably makes him uncomfortable and a little bitter. The way he sees it, Thomas can at least "be normal" and be fulfilled by being with women, whereas James is just attracted to men, which he still thinks is kind of wrong. 
> 
> On a more positive note, being gay is totally not wrong at all, and happy pride to all my LGBTQ+ readers :-)


	8. The Hamilton Report

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is low key super wonky b/c I'm a politics nerd, so I'm sorry if everyone fucking hates it. 
> 
> It should make y'all happy though :-)

George is sitting in the bathroom of their latest hotel with his head hanging miserably over the toilet. Every few minutes his stomach muscles spasm painfully and he rises up to his knees so he can dry heave, nothing left inside of him to bring up. 

He has no idea where Alex is. 

The news broke when they were pulling up to the hotel, preparing for a quick check in and a chance to freshen up before the day of campaigning. Now, all of George’s events are being taken over by surrogates, and they’re barricading themselves in the hotel. 

Lafayette is already downstairs with Toby— the new press secretary—Hercules, and a few other members of the communications team preparing a strategy and setting up interviews and media appearances. 

George barely remembers the past hour. When he saw the pictures up on the screen next to Chris Cuomo’s face this morning on CNN, he almost blacked out. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him and Alex, and Alex had quickly gotten up and angrily went to sit in the back of the bus. 

Hercules slowly came up and sat next to George, giving him a big smile. 

“For the record, David and I have always secretly thought that you and Alex would make an excellent couple, so, even though everything seems kind of shitty right now, just know that you’ve got us behind you, Sir.”

George almost burst into tears. 

But now Alex is nowhere to be seen and George is, in typical fashion, losing his shit. 

There’s a knock on his door, so he wearily pulls himself to his feet and throws the door open. Angelica is standing there with a grim look on her face. 

“Are you okay, George? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine,” George sighs. “I need to go downstairs and help develop our strategy.”

Angelica nods, biting her lip. “Senator Jefferson has been trying to get in touch with you,” she says quietly. George stiffens and crosses his arms.

“I have no idea what he could possibly have to say to me,” George snaps. “That lying bastard.”

George should’ve known not to trust Jefferson. 

_Mutually assured destruction my ass_ , George thinks bitterly. 

“He sounds pretty desperate, George. He said that he wants to explain what happened.” 

George grinds his teeth and takes a deep breath. “Fine. Give him my personal cell number and tell him to call me. I’ll be downstairs in a little while.” 

“Sounds good.” Angelica bites her lip, looking like she wants to say more. George raises his eyebrows in a silent question, and Angelica sighs. “I have no idea where Alex is. I think he might be in his hotel room, but he didn’t answer the door when I knocked. I’m so sorry, George.”

George’s stomach clenches and he tries to breathe through it. “It’s fine. You better start looking for a new job, though,” George says bitterly. Angelica tenses up and her eyes flash with anger.

“Don’t say that,” she snaps, jabbing his chest with her finger. “You can survive this, George. Bill Clinton survived his scandal, and his was arguably _way_ worse. You aren’t doing anything wrong. It’s not an affair because you’re not married. It’s not a violation of the nepotism laws, because federal judges have ruled that it doesn’t apply to White House staff positions. The only scandalous part is that you kept it a secret, and we can spin that.” 

George lets out a shaky breath and rubs the back of his neck. “We’ll see,” he says softly. “Give Jefferson my number and tell him to call me.”

Angelica nods and reaches out to squeeze George’s hand. “It’s going to be okay, George. We won’t go down without a fight.” 

George collapses down on the bed and grabs his phone. He sends a quick text to Alex. 

_I love you Alex. We’ll get this figured out._

A few minutes later, his phone buzzes with a call. It’s a Virginia area code. Jefferson. 

“Hello Thomas,” George says snidely. 

“Mr. President, listen. It wasn’t us. I promise,” Thomas says quickly, his tone bordering on frantic. “I told Conway not to leak it, but he lied to me about having more copies of the pictures and went ahead and leaked it right before the flight took off. We’ve already fired him, and James and I are both scheduled for CNN interviews later today. I’m going on Wolf and he’s going on The Lead. We’re prepared to support you one hundred percent. I’ll even go on MSNBC if you think it’ll help us reach your base.” 

George almost chokes on his own spit, and he takes a few seconds to process Thomas’ words. 

“Why are you doing this?” he finally asks. “You’re going to alienate your base.”

“Because I don’t want to be a hypocrite and I don’t want to see your life fall apart.” Thomas pauses and huffs a chuckle. “Plus, I hate to admit it, but you’re a damn good president. I sure do wish you were a Republican.”

George manages a chuckle too and takes a deep breath. “This means a lot to me, Thomas. You know, I’ve always thought that, if things were different, you and I could be friends… Again.”

“Me too, Mr. President. Maybe we still can be. A little bipartisan cooperation would look good for everyone.”

“You forget that I’m most likely losing this election.”

“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion so quickly, Mr. President. James and I… we’re about to commit political suicide. Only 33 percent of Republicans support gay marriage and gay rights, and only 29 percent of people who identify themselves as conservative support it. That’s our base right there. You’re going to look like a hero to your party.” 

George swallows, a small kindling of hope sparking inside of him. 

“How will I repay you? You, well, you might be throwing away your political career.”

“Keep my secret for me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone,” George says softly.

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

George’s throat tightens and he has to clear his throat. “No, thank you, Thomas.” George sniffs and rubs his eyes. “And listen, Thomas, I know it’s been almost 30 years since… since what I told you, but I never got a chance to thank you for letting me share that burden with you. Your friendship meant a lot to me.”

George hears Thomas sniff, and when he speaks again his voice is husky. “You’re welcome. No one should ever have to go through that alone. You were just a kid, you know?”

“Yeah,” George breathes. 

There’s a sharp knock on his door and George jumps. He holds the phone away from his face. “Coming!” 

“Sounds like you need to go,” Thomas says. “I’ll see you at the debate, Mr. President. Good luck.”

Thomas hangs up before George can say anything else, and George hurries to open the door. 

Alex is standing in the hallway, a stack of papers in his hands. His face is splotchy and red, but his jaw is set and he has an almost wild, fiery look in his eyes.

“I have a media strategy to present to the staff, and I would like you down there when I tell everyone,” Alex says matter-of-factly. “We’re going to survive this scandal, you’re going to be president, and we’re going to be together until one of us dies.” Alex juts his chin out, daring George to challenge him.

George just smiles and pulls Alex into a crushing hug, earning a grunt from him. “You’re crinkling my papers,” Alex mutters. “It took forever to print these in the business center.”

“Shut up,” George murmurs. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Alex says a little impatiently. “But the clock is ticking, and we need to take control of this before it gets out of hand. We need to reclaim the narrative and bombard the media.”

George releases him from the hug and smooths some of his hair back. “You really think we’re going to survive this?”

“As long as we can fend off the Republicans? Yes… Maybe.”

“Jefferson and Madison are going to come out and support us,” George says softly. Alex’s mouth drops open and his eyes widen. 

“Are you serious?” 

George nods and presses a kiss to Alex’s forehead. “We won’t need to fend the Republicans off because the leaders of their party are about to do it for us.”

Alex shakes his head in disbelief and starts to laugh, throwing his head back. “I never,” he sucks in a breath and tries to stop laughing, “I never thought that Thomas Jefferson would sacrifice his reputation for anyone. I mean, he realizes that he’s about to majorly fuck up his career, right?”

“He’ll be saving his conscience, and I guess that’s more important to him.” George shrugs. “I think that, under it all, Thomas Jefferson is a good guy. Maybe he always has been.”

“Well God damn.” Alex cups George’s cheek and raises up on his toes to kiss him gently. “We still need to hurry though.”

George laughs against Alex’s lips. “You’re so impatient.” 

Alex shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “Are you okay? I forgot to ask.”

“I’m doing better. It’s, well, I don’t want to get my hopes up, but it’s really not looking that bad, Alex.”

“Sorry I disappeared. I needed to do something constructive, focus on _doing_ something, you know?”

“So while I was curled up on the floor in the bathroom, you were putting a report together?”

Concern flashes in Alex’s eyes and he rubs George’s chest. “Are you feeling better? You should drink some water.” 

“I’m fine, Alex. If only I had your coping methods,” George quips as they walk to the elevators. 

“It’s like I always say, we’ve all got our own ways of coping.”

\---

“Alright, everyone listen up,” Alex says as soon as he strides into the conference room where their staff is assembled. Lafayette is at the front writing out a list of reporters and television shows on the white board they use for debate prep, and he suddenly stops in the middle of writing 'George Stephanopoulos,' leaving it at 'George Stephanopo.'

“Yes?” he asks. “Also, hello Mr. President. How’re you holding up, Sir?”

George nods. “Better.” 

Alex makes an impatient harrumphing noise and George chuckles. “Go ahead and pass out your report,” he murmurs. Alex flashes him a smile and, after a moment of hesitation, reaches over to squeeze George’s hand. 

“Thanks. Now, everyone better pay the fuck attention to me. I probably gave myself carpal tunnel typing this, so I suggest everyone follow along.” 

Lafayette chuckles and accepts the packet Alex hands him. “Of course you would plan the strategy to handle your own scandal.”

“Not a scandal,” Alex says. “We can’t refer to it as a scandal. That implies guilt and wrongdoing. George and I have done absolutely nothing wrong. Not technically, at least. And we’re not guilty about it either. So no guilt, got it?” 

Lafayette nods. “Got it.” 

“Perfect. Now, we’ll get back to that later. Right now I need everyone to look at the poll numbers there on page one. First, lets look at support of gay marriage, which I’ve decided to use as an indicator for support of gay rights more broadly. 70 percent of Democrats and 61 percent of Independents support gay marriage. That’s our base right there. Additionally, 78 percent of people who describe themselves as liberal support it. That’s _definitely_ our base right there. Any questions?”

George sits down in one of the chairs around the table and smiles fondly. Alex never ceases to blow him away.

_He could be a Senator one day._

Alex briefly meets George’s eyes and they share a silent moment. ‘I love you,’ Alex’s eyes say. George smiles, sending the same look right back. 

“Now,” Alex says, dropping his head back down to his report. “Lets look specifically at support for a gay presidential candidate. This has some caveats, but I’ll get into those in a minute. First, in general, 74 percent of Americans say they would support a qualified gay candidate. George is _obviously_ qualified. Then, breaking it down by religious affiliation, because obviously this is easily turned into a religious issue. 82 percent of Catholics and 92 percent of Atheists or Agnostics say they would support a gay candidate. Only 62 percent of Protestants say they would, but lets go back to our base. Catholics tend to lean Democrat: In one poll, 44 percent of the Catholics polled said they’re either Democrats or lean Democrat; 37 percent said Republican or lean Republican. That’s a fairly sizable difference. Protestants are overwhelmingly more likely to be Republicans. 56 percent versus only 28 percent identifying as Democrats. That’s big, but unimportant to us. On the other side, Atheists and Agnostics are overwhelmingly Democratic. That’s good for us.” 

“Hold up,” Toby says, shifting his weight. “You compiled all of this information in a little over an hour?”

Alex shoots Toby an impatient look and nods. “Yes. Now, if you’ll let me continue. I mentioned some caveats earlier. This is arguably the shittiest part of the research, but it actually works out in our favor. If you’ll flip to page three, you’ll see that numerous political psychology experiments have found that Americans are way less likely to elect a gay male candidate if they have traits that are more effeminate. Leadership and leaders are, as backed up by research, typically associated with masculine traits and images. Luckily for us, George is pretty masculine. He’s got a deep voice, he does stuff like play basketball and ride horses, and the way he carries himself is masculine. Basically, you wouldn’t know George was bi from looking at him. Sure, he’s a little sensitive, but our base has always liked that about him, and I don’t see why him being bi is going to change that.”

George can feel himself blushing and he ducks his head as a few people chuckle. Alex just ignores them and keeps going, pacing rapidly in front of the room and accenting his words with big hand movements. 

“Alright, now, speaking of our base. Please turn to page four. As you’ll see, 57 percent of Millennials identify as Democrat as opposed to 36 percent identifying as Republican. For Generation X, the margin is a little slimmer with 48 percent identifying as Democrat compared to 42 percent identifying as Republican. The Baby Boomers and the Silent generations are both more likely to lean Republican. So that’s good for us, because Millennials overwhelmingly support gay rights—71 percent—and Generation Xers have a relatively strong showing with 56 percent supporting it. So, you might be asking yourself, ‘what about older Democrats in the Boomer generation?’ Doesn’t matter. Millennials make up more of the population than Boomers, and Generation Xers are expected to surpass them in the next eight years. Subsequently, Millennials make up more of the voting base. We don’t _need_ old homophobic, racist Democrats. We’re fine.” 

Alex finally stops, sucking in a deep breath and smiling a little breathlessly. “So there’s the research. The next several pages outline our strategy.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Lafayette mutters. Alex whirls around and stabs a finger in Lafayette’s direction. 

“Hey, I’m trying to save George’s presidency and both of our reputations, so pardon me for going a little in depth,” Alex snaps, eyes flashing. 

“Alex,” George says gently. “Lets take a quick break before we go into the media strategy, okay?”

Alex glares at George for a second before nodding. “Fine. 10 minutes,” he says firmly. George smiles and motions Alex over as everyone starts to leave to go to the bathroom and stretch their legs a little.

“This is really impressive, sweetheart,” he murmurs, aware of the remaining people in the room. It feels odd, knowing that they’re no longer invisible. It’s a strange feeling, being opaque. 

Alex tentatively reaches out to cup George’s cheek, both of them holding their breath and darting their eyes back and forth. The only person left in the room now is Hercules, who’s busy plugging up his phone charger. He just gives them a grin and whistles.

“You two are too damn cute,” he says on his way out of the room. George feels his face heat up and laughs when he sees how pink Alex’s cheeks are. 

“This is weird,” Alex says as he cautiously sits in George’s lap. They’re both tense, and George is sure Alex must be able to hear how loudly his heart is beating, but it also feels strangely good. Freeing. 

“Yeah,” George murmurs. “It’s also… it’s kind of nice. I know that our careers are both on the cusp of being ruined, and I might lose the presidency, but this is also… It’s just nice. Not having to hide.”

“It all kind of feels like a dream. I guess because I haven’t really looked at the news yet. I haven’t been brave enough to see what the pundits are saying. I’m sure Fox is eating us alive.”

George’s stomach churns at the thought, a shot of anxiety shooting through him, and he swallows nervously. “I’m just trying not to think about it right now,” he says a little shakily. 

“Are you scared?” 

George nods. “Being locked up in this room strategizing makes it sound so manageable, but people are stupid and hateful, and I’m terrified of what it’s actually going to be like once we start dealing with the media. I’m scared that it’s still gonna bring us down.”

“I know baby.”

George presses his face into Alex’s neck and breathes in deeply. They’re quiet for several long seconds before Alex takes a deep breath. “Hey George?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m sorry about all those awful things I said to you. I was so upset that I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should’ve never tried to hurt you like that.”

George presses his face harder into Alex’s neck. “It’s okay. I forgive you,” he says, his voice muffled by Alex’s skin. 

“No, George, I’m serious. That was so fucking shitty. I said things that I knew would upset you. The thing about Martha… I should have never used her against you. That’s so fucking unfair and _mean_. I’m so sorry.”

“Alex, please. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to waste time fighting.”

Alex blows out a frustrated huff of air and squeezes the back of George’s neck. “I just, I need you to tell me how you’re feeling. We’re not fighting; we’re talking.”

George heaves a sigh and raises his head up. “What do you want me to say? That what you said hurt my feelings? Because that’s obvious. Look, using Martha against me is really low. It’s unfair and hateful, especially because you know it’s where I’m most vulnerable. As long as you don’t try to use Martha to hurt me again, then it’s fine. I don’t know how much time we have left together, Alexander, so I don’t want to spend it fighting.”

Alex nods. “Okay,” he whispers. 

George kisses him gently and nuzzles his neck. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too. So much.”

They both jump when the door opens, Alex scrambling off George’s lap to stand up. He brushes his suit down and smiles sheepishly as Angelica walks into the room. 

“You know that you don’t have to hide anymore, right? The cat’s out of the bag,” she says dryly, a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” George says. Alex smiles fondly before going to the front of the room.

As soon as everyone is back in their seats, he clears his throat and opens his report back up with a dramatic flip of the page. He looks up and grins.

“Alright everyone, now it’s time for the fun part: The media strategy. Lets go win some hearts and minds.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How HAPPY is everyone??
> 
> Sorry for all the numbers/data lmao. I low key did a shit ton of research for this oops. Honestly, I included Alex's "report" b/c I wanted to justify my own choice as to the direction I decided to take with this (and b/c I love polls and data!!). I hope everyone finds it to be a plausible political situation, b/c I wouldn't want to write something that doesn't seem realistic. If anyone thinks it isn't, please feel free to shout at me in the comments lmao.
> 
> The next chapter will also probably be a little wonky, but maybe not as bad. I'm so sorry for being a fucking NERD. I blame my political science and journalism majors. 
> 
> FYI: All of the date is from Pew except the research about support for gay candidates; that came from Gallup. The research about perceptions of gay candidates is taken partially from a Vice article (that quotes/references several studies) and partially from a couple of studies that I've read (sadly I don't remember the name/source of them)


	9. Winning Hearts and Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lil wonky, but not /too/ bad. 
> 
> I go a little embarrassingly in-depth when describing CNN. It's fine.
> 
> f-slur is used in the fake tweets (that I had way too much fun writing)

“Okay, look at me George. Give me your eyes, baby.”

George sluggishly registers Alex tipping his chin up and he squints his eyes, trying to focus on Alex’s face hovering in front of him. Another wave of panic crashes into him and he lets out a shaky breath. He needs to get his shit together. Alex grips his chin tightly and gives him a stern look. “George, love, you can do this. I know you can do this.”

“I don’t know, Alex,” George whispers, his mouth dry. 

_You’ve given press conferences a million times before._ **_Get it together._ **

“You can.” Alex’s tone leaves no room for argument, and George nods, resigned. 

“Take me through the plan again?” George asks softly. Alex’s eyes soften and he wraps George in a tight hug. 

“Lafayette is on his way back to the White House; Angelica is on the way to New York for an interview with Wolf Blitzer at six and Chris Matthews at seven; and Toby and Herc are here to help us coordinate the press conference. As soon as we finish up with the press conference, we’re getting on a plane and going back to the White House. Ambassador Schuyler and our surrogates will stay out campaigning.”

“And my press conference specifically?”

“We’ve got the stage set up in the lobby and have already assembled the traveling press corps. You’ll go out, make a statement using the talking points Herc and I wrote up for you to keep you on track, and then you’ll take as many questions as you think you can handle. Try to do at least three: _New York Times, WaPo, and CNN._ Anyone else is just icing on the cake.”

George lets out a shaky breath and rests his chin on the top of Alex’s head. “Will you be up there with me?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes. “It’s gonna be fine, baby.”

“We’re going on after Jefferson has his interview on Wolf, right?”

“Yeah. We’ll be on at around 1:15, depending on how long Jefferson is on for.”

George nods and squeezes Alex tightly. “I wish this wasn’t happening, Alex,” George whispers. 

They have a detailed media strategy, all starting with George’s press conference, but everything looks good on paper. Communism looks good on paper. Hell, even _capitalism_ looks kind of good on paper. 

But no strategy is fool-proof. 

George and Alex have tentatively started looking at social media responses, and it’s not awful. Radical Republicans and die-hard conservatives are pissed, of course. Spouting off all sorts of hate.

_@POTUS @GeorgeWashington @alexhamilton so fcking disgusting. we cant have fags in White House!! #Madison2020 #HamiltonAffair_

_can we impeach @GeorgeWashington for being a fucking fag?? #HamiltonAffair_

_how tf did we let secret gays infiltrate our government? @JamesMadison better win this election #HamiltonAffair_

But it’s looking a little better on the other side, Democrats and liberals coming out fairly supportive with open-minded Republicans pouring out their support too.

_honestly it’s about time that we had an LGBT president. can’t wait to reelect @GeorgeWashington #HamiltonAffair_

_will Hamilton be senior advisor AND first gentleman now? b/c that would be cute af. #HamiltonAffair_

_why is it called #HamiltonAffair ? no one is having an affair. can we get the facts straight? much ❤️ to @GeorgeWashington & @alexhamilton_

_are we rlly going to blame them for keeping it a secret? they wouldn’t have to if ppl weren’t so mean and close-minded. #HamiltonAffair_

So George is a mix of tentatively hopeful and afraid for his own life. If someone tried to kill him for being black, then surely he must be the bigots’ most wanted now that he’s black _and_ bisexual. 

A shiver goes down George’s spine, and Alex reaches up to squeeze the back of his neck. “Hey, what’re you thinking about? You’re shaking.”

“Sorry,” George whispers. “I’m just nervous.” 

“I know honey.” Alex presses a kiss to George’s chest, right over his heart. “But you’re going to be okay. I promise.”

_Again with the promises he can’t possibly keep._

George manages a sickly smile. “Thanks.”

Alex furrows his eyebrows and rubs George’s chest. “You wanna lay down and watch Jefferson’s interview before going downstairs?”

George just nods and takes his suit jacket off, hanging it up on the bathroom door. He loosens his tie and toes his shoes off before collapsing down on the bed, curling up on his side. 

Alex sits up next to him and puts a pillow in his lap, motioning for George to lay in his lap. George gets himself comfortable and takes a deep breath when Alex flips the TV on. 

The chyron boasts a ‘Breaking News’ graphic.

SOON: SEN. JEFFERSON SPEAKS OUT ABOUT HAMILTON AFFAIR

Inside Politics is still on, and John King is talking to the assembled pundits at his table. George half listens as they debate what Jefferson might say.

John Fenno, a Democratic strategist and big supporter of George is arguing admirably, while Philip Freneau, a major Jefferson-Madison supporter and former spokesman for the RNC sits fuming in his seat, staring daggers. 

“Look, John,” Freneau says to John King, cutting Fenno off. “Senator Jefferson is going to come out here and say what everyone else is too scared to say in fear of not being ‘politically correct,’” he says snidely, using air quotes. “He’s going to come out and say what this president is doing is wrong and a violation of proper workplace protocol. The fact that he’s been _secretly_ in some sort of ‘relationship’ with his top advisor, whom he promoted early on in the administration is abominable and disgusting. President Washington ought to be impeached.”

Fenno busts out laughing and shakes his head. “Philip, you’ve got to be kidding me. He didn’t break any laws. Sure, it might be frowned upon to date someone who you employ, but I don’t think we should jump to conclusions about the nature of the relationship until we hear from the president himself. I know Alex Hamilton personally, and let me tell you, he’s one of the smartest guys in Washington’s administration. I have no doubt in my mind that he earned his promotion.”

“Well, that’s a real nice way to spin it, John,” Freneau says sarcastically.

John King smiles and smoothly interjects. “I’d love to continue this discussion, gentlemen, but we’re all out of time today. I now send you over to Wolf Blitzer and his much anticipated interview with Senate Minority Leader Thomas Jefferson, Congressman Madison’s staunchest supporter.”

The screen switches to a Breaking News graphic before showing Wolf Blitzer’s infamous straight face. 

“Hello and welcome, I’m Wolf Blitzer. It’s 1 p.m. here in Washington and 1:30 a.m. in Pyongyang, North Korea. Wherever you’re watching from around the world, thanks very much for joining us. Up first, Thomas Jefferson is joining us from Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. Senator, thank you for joining us.”

Jefferson is put up in a box on the screen next to Wolf, and he smiles. He’s dressed more muted than usual in a black suit and purple tie. 

“Thank you for having me Wolf. It’s a pleasure as always.” 

“Now, Senator, the news leaked earlier, in the light of the release of the photos, that the Madison campaign fired Republican strategist Thomas Conway. Is that in any way linked to what is being dubbed the Hamilton Affair?”

“I was hoping you would ask me that, Wolf,” Jefferson says with a hint of his notorious, wolfish smile. “Congressman Madison and I fired Thomas Conway after he, working with former Press Secretary Aaron Burr, spied on the president and released these photos to the press.”

“So you’re saying that this leak came from your campaign?”

“In a sense, yes, but it wasn’t condoned by either myself or the congressman. I gave Conway strict orders _not_ to release the information, but he lied to me about how many copies there were, and released them against my and Congressman Madison’s wishes.”

Despite the bombshell information, Wolf takes it in stride and nods. “Now, Mr. Senator, what is your reaction to the quote-unquote ‘Hamilton Affair?’”

“First of all, I think that the president should be free to enter into a relationship with whomever he wants, regardless of their gender. It makes no difference to me—and it shouldn’t make a difference for anyone—that the president is bisexual. I strongly believe that it’s a non-issue—”

“Mr. Senator, I’m sorry, but I just have to interject to make sure we get this straight, because so far the Republican response to the news about the president’s sexuality has been very negative. You don’t find it an issue, even though you’ve spoken out against gay rights and were a strong critic of the 2015 Supreme Court ruling on gay marriage?”

“Yes,” Jefferson says firmly. “In fact, I’m happy for the president. I know what it’s like to lose a spouse, so I couldn’t be happier to hear that he’s been able to move on and find someone else who makes him happy.” 

Wolf again doesn’t even hesitate. “Do you think that the president committed an abuse of power in engaging in a relationship with a subordinate? And do you think it’s a sign of nepotism that Alex Hamilton was promoted toward the beginning of the president’s first term?”

“No and no. Not every relationship between someone in a position of power and someone underneath them is an abuse of power, and I think we should let the president elaborate on the nature of his relationship with Mr. Hamilton rather than just jump to conclusions. It’s a little naive and antiquated to automatically assume anything about their relationship. And I don’t think it’s a sign of nepotism at all. If you know anything about Alex Hamilton, it’s that he’s truly as good as they get. He’s a genius, and has worked his way up in the world ever since he was younger. There’s no doubt in my mind that he earned this promotion fair and square. And, I know George Washington. He doesn’t reward people unless the deserve and earn it.”

Wolf nods and shuffles the stack of papers on his desk. “Is there anything you would like to add, Senator?”

Jefferson smiles and nods. “I just want to congratulate the president and extend my best wishes to him and Mr. Hamilton. I would also like to urge other Republicans to keep an open mind. You don’t choose who you love, and there’s nothing wrong with being a member of the LGBTQ+ community. In fact, I’d say that President Washington is a testament to everything good about America. There aren’t very many places where a young, black, bisexual man can be elected to the highest government office. That’s the definition of progress right there.”

“Thank you Senator.”

“Thanks Wolf.”

Alex shuts the TV off as Wolf starts to talk to the assembled panel of pundits.

“Holy shit, George. He basically just endorsed you for president.” 

George nods, staring blankly at the now black TV screen. “I’d do the same thing,” George murmurs. “That’s why he did it. He knows I’d support him in a heartbeat.”

Alex frowns and runs his hand up and down George’s side. “What’re you talking about?”

“Jefferson and Madison have been dating for the past seven years. That’s why he did it. James and he are in the same situation as we are. He told me that he didn’t want to be a hypocrite.”

“Holy shit… I _knew_ they were fucking,” Alex mutters. George smiles briefly and nods. 

Even though they’ve attacked each other before, sometimes viciously, the bond he formed with Thomas as a child never really wore off. It was there, hidden under the surface, waiting to reform. It’s always surprised George how quickly humans will commit themselves to a common cause, how quickly they’ll sacrifice themselves for other people.

George always thought that Thomas Jefferson was a snake in his garden, sent out to hunt him down and sabotage his carefully constructed paradise. But George is starting to realize that Thomas has been there to protect him all along, keeping pests and insects from desecrating George’s precious flowers. 

He was too focused on the evil to see the good. 

Thomas Jefferson just jumped in front of the proverbial bullet. George owes him his life. 

\---

The hotel lobby is stiflingly hot, and George can feel the press corps’ eyes on him and Alex as they stand off to the side of the make-shift stage, waiting to get the go ahead from Toby to begin the press conference. Alex is fiddling with his tie, smoothing it down for him. It’s something he’s done for George a million times, but it suddenly feels risqué out here in the open in front of so many prying eyes. 

“Hey George,” Alex says softly, reaching forward to give George’s hand a small squeeze. “You okay? You’re shaking.”

“Just nervous,” George whispers, his mouth suddenly painfully dry. He swallows and licks his lips. “Everyone is looking at us.”

“You’re the president,” Alex teases. “Shouldn’t you be used to that by now?” 

George chuckles and relaxes a little as Alex playfully pokes his side. “You’re gonna do great. And I’ll be right there behind you, okay? 

“Okay,” George whispers, taking a deep breath when Toby gives them a thumbs up and a nod. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

George walks up to the podium, trying to look as confident as possible. 

_Fake it ’til you make it_ , he reminds himself.

“Good afternoon everyone,” he says, smiling. “I know you’ve all got questions, but I’ve got just a few things to say first.” George takes a deep breath and glances down at the talking points before looking back up. “First, I would like to define a clear timeline, because I think there’s a lot of speculation going on right now. I don't normally make it a habit of speaking about my personal life, but I’m obviously going to have to make an exception here. I’ll try to keep it as professional as possible.” George clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back. “I started seeing Alex during my first campaign for president. To dispel any of the rumors that I somehow coerced Alex into a relationship with me, he is the one who first brought up the prospect of a relationship, and he is the one who originally pursued me.” George chuckles a little nervously and shifts his weight. “I did promote him from Head Speechwriter a few months into my first term, but—and others can corroborate this—Alex earned his promotion fair and square. He is an amazing, hard-working, and talented employee. I wouldn’t have promoted him if he wasn’t.”

George pauses and takes a quick sip of the water Toby put on the podium for him. He hopes no one notices how badly his hands are shaking. 

“Now, I would like to address the previously secretive nature of our relationship. Alex and I both realized that the information that I’m bisexual and dating a man could have very real political implications—as we’re all seeing right now. Keeping our relationship a secret was a mutual decision that we did not take lightly. I didn’t keep my sexuality secret because I’m ashamed; all of my close friends know that I’m bisexual and I have always been open with them about that part of myself. I decided to keep it a secret because I knew that it would hurt my political career. Is that hypocritical? Probably. But I think it says less about me and much more about the way that we treat and view members of the LGBTQ+ community here in the United States.” 

A few members of the press nod their heads and make small noises of agreement, and George relaxes some of the tension in his shoulders. 

“Lastly, I would like to address my late wife Martha.” 

George takes a deep, steadying breath. He hates talking about Martha publicly. When he continues speaking, his voice is noticeably more strained. 

“I loved my wife very, very much. We met in college, and she was aware of the fact that I was bisexual before we started dating. That being said—” George takes another breath and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “That being said, Martha was not a ‘beard’ or a political wife, and suggesting that she was is not only an insult to me, but an insult to her.” A tear runs down George’s cheek and he quickly reaches up to wipe it away. “I’m sorry. Talking about Martha is hard for me,” he says honestly. “She was very special to me, and losing her was incredibly painful. But then I met Alex and he helped me move on and deal with that grief. My relationship with Alex is equally special and just as real, so I would appreciate it if everyone would treat it as such. Both for my sake and for his.” George pauses and rubs his eyes. “Thank you. I’ll take your questions now.” 

Everyone seems momentarily taken aback by George’s blunt honesty, but they soon shake themselves out of their stupor and raise their hands, shouting questions. He inwardly cringes at the onslaught of noise and points at Julie Hirschfeld Davis from _The_ _New York Times._

She smiles and sits forward in her chair. “Thank you, Mr. President. So far, some Republicans are saying that keeping Mr. Hamilton on as a senior advisor violates the nepotism laws put in place by President Lyndon B. Johnson. Do you think you’re violating that law.”

“Not at all. As I’m sure all of you are smart enough to know, the law bars presidents from hiring relatives to Cabinet or agency jobs—a direct response to Robert F. Kennedy serving as Attorney General—but federal judges have ruled that it doesn’t apply to White House staff jobs. Alex and I are well within the confines of the law.” 

George points at Jim Acosta from CNN. 

“Mr. President, what is your response to Senator Jefferson’s interview with Wolf Blitzer?”

“Well, Jim, I’m proud of the senator for taking such an open-minded, accepting stance on the issue, and I’m very grateful and humbled to have his support moving forward.”

“Have you spoken to Senator Jefferson?” Jim asks quickly. 

“I have.” George turns and finds Greg Jaffe from _The Washington Post,_ pointing.

“Thank you, Mr. President. In your remarks, you mentioned the state of LGBTQ+ relations in this country. If reelected, would you make that a more integral part of your agenda?”

George smiles and nods. “Absolutely. I’ve already been working hard on protecting transgender rights and lobbying state governments to stay away from passing harmful ‘bathroom bills’ that impede on transgender student’s rights, and I’ve also pushed for a greater emphasis on LGBTQ+ counselors in schools. These are often our most vulnerable students, and they may feel like they don’t have anyone to turn to when they need to discuss problems they may be having. I think it’s important that they have someone who they can relate to available to talk to them. Straight people can’t understand what it’s like to be a member of the LGBTQ+ community, so why should they be offering advice for something they haven’t experienced? And, I of course want to continue to fight bullying in our schools.”

George smiles and waves. “Thank you everyone.” 

He turns to look at Alex and is surprised to see tears shining in his eyes. George immediately reaches out for him. “What’s wrong, Alex?” He squeezes his shoulder and brushes a strand of hair out of his face.

“Nothing, nothing,” he says, flustered. “I’m just proud of you.” 

They walk off the stage together, reaching for each other’s hands. George can hear the rapid-fire clicks of cameras tracking their movements.

He’s never felt more exposed, more _visible_.

But with Alex at his side? 

The visibility is kind of nice. 

\---

They leave Florida right as the storm breaks, the dark clouds scattering to reveal a brilliant blue sky. George has never been so happy to see the sun in his entire life. 

He feels drained and exhausted, the lack of sleep and overwhelming stress finally catching up with him, but Alex is warm in his arms as they lay smushed together on the couch in the Presidential Suite. They were way too tired to deal with the pull out bed. 

“Hey George,” Alex murmurs. “You still awake, baby?” George grunts and nods his head. 

“Yeah.” he slurs tiredly, already half asleep. “You okay?”

“We need to eat something. When was the last time you ate a meal that you _didn’t_ throw up?” 

George groans and squeezes Alex in a hug. “Don’t remember and don’t care. I’m tired.”

Alex just wiggles out of George’s arms and digs around in his bag, muttering to himself as he shoves through a mess of junk and papers. George rolls his eyes. 

_Organized mess my ass._

After a few more seconds of rooting around, Alex stands up, victoriously holding two Snickers bars over his head. 

“Found ‘em! Think you could handle one of these?” 

“Yeah,” George mutters as he sits up and rubs his eyes. “They better not be melted.”

Alex bites his lip as he hands over what is most definitely a melted Snickers. George glares at him and peals the wrapper off the goopy mess of chocolate. 

“I am _not_ eating that,” George says, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t do melted candy bars. It looks like sludge and it makes my fingers sticky.” 

Alex rolls his eyes and opens his own Snickers, promptly scooping some onto his fingers and sucking it off, letting out an exaggerated groan. “But it’s soooo good, George. C’mon, don’t be such a diva. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I didn’t even _ask_ for this, though.” 

George stares warily at the candy bar and Alex groans. 

“You are so difficult. You’re gonna pass out if you don’t eat. C’mon, you can’t be feeling well, baby. Eat some for me?” Alex asks, giving George his best puppy dog look. “I’ll even let you lick it off my fingers so you don’t have to get all sticky.” 

George raises his eyebrows at that and embarrassingly enough feels his cock twitch in his pants. He is _not_ about to get an erection in the middle of a political emergency. 

If Alex’s notices, he doesn’t say anything about it, and promptly scoops some of the chocolate onto his finger and wags it in front of George’s face, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Here you go, baby. Suck it.” 

George swallows and tentatively leans forward to suck Alex’s fingers into his mouth, licking the chocolate off. Alex smiles wickedly, giving George a smug look. 

“You want some more?” he practically purrs. 

George shifts his weight as he starts to get hard, inwardly cursing himself. 

_Fuck off boner. Now’s not really the time._

“Maybe a little more,” George whispers, his mouth suddenly dry as a fucking desert. 

Alex offers him two more scoops of the chocolate before he sets it down on the side table and smirks, raising his eyebrows.

“Well that’s interesting,” he murmurs as he traces George’s lips with a wet finger and reaches to cup George through his pants.

“Alex,” George warns. “We can’t.”

“And why the fuck not? I don’t even want to know how many presidents have fucked around on this couch.”

“We—our careers are on the line. It feels a little inappropriate.”

“I’m feeling hopeful. Aren’t you?” Alex whispers as he presses two fingers into George’s mouth and continues to knead him through his pants.

“Yeah,” George says around Alex’s fingers, his voice garbled. “Kind of.” 

Alex climbs into George’s lap and grinds down on him, his fingers still shoved into George’s mouth, salty on his tongue. George can feel spit starting to dribble out of his mouth and he itches to reach up and wipe it away. 

Alex just grins and pushes his fingers as far back as he can, and George gags when he touches the back of his throat. 

“Sorry,” Alex says as he pulls his fingers out and lets George wipe his mouth off. 

“It’s okay,” George breaths, choking off into a moan when Alex grinds down on him. 

“You can move, baby,” Alex whispers in his ear. “I want to watch you come in your pants. Can you do that for me?” 

George makes an embarrassing whimpering sound as he starts to rut up against Alex, shoving his hips up in search of friction. 

“Oh Alex,” George chokes. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time as George feels himself getting close.

“Shh, baby,” Alex shushes him as he slips his fingers back into George’s mouth. “Don’t make too much noise.” 

George makes a garbled, groaning noise around Alex’s fingers and rubs himself off on Alex’s ass, his hips stuttering when he finally feels his cock pulse, a wet spot instantly spreading on the front of his gray suit. 

He slumps down on the couch, his hands falling away from Alex’s hips. His head is spinning and he can already feel his eyes slipping closed, but Alex taps his cheek and kisses him, nipping his lip. 

“You need to change before this dries and starts chafing. Stay with me for a little longer, okay George?”

George nods and lets Alex tug his shoes off, halfheartedly helping to undo his belt and unbutton his pants. 

“Do you want me to get you off?” George slurs. Alex smiles as he tugs George’s pants off.

“I’m okay. I just wanted to watch you get yourself off.” 

George sluggishly helps push his boxers off, wrinkling his nose when he sees the mess. Alex just grins as he gets some tissues and cleans George up. “Oh you did so well, George,” Alex croons. “Such a good job.”

George flushes with the praise, hating that Alex can bring out this side of him. 

After several minutes, with lots of help from Alex, George is in one of the extra suits he keeps on the plane, curled up with Alex in his arms. 

“I love you,” he whispers, blinking to try to keep himself awake. 

“I love you too, George,” Alex murmurs, gently squeezing George’s arm. “Go to sleep baby. You deserve to take a little nap before we go out and win some more hearts and minds.”

“You really think we’re gonna survive this, don’t you?”

Alex is quiet for a few seconds before he nods. “I really do,” he says solemnly. “Plus,” he chuckles. “You should know by now—I never lose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sub George is so cute imo (especially sleepy sub George!!)
> 
> And ummm isn't this so great?
> 
> Tbh, TJeffs is honestly the hero of this story b/c without his support, I think that they totally wouldn't survive this scandal (which is obvs why I included TJeffs lmao)


	10. Everything's Coming Up Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lil angsty but also nice and cute :-) 
> 
> I made Tallmadge gay and dating Caleb Brewster b/c I can and that's cute. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I never really watch full episodes of Jimmy Fallon so idk what he's like. Sorry if my brief characterization of him is awful lmao.

Even though it’s late—or early, considering on how you look at it—the air is still thick and muggy, oppressively humid. 

As George wipes a bead of sweat off of his face with the collar of his t-shirt, he begrudgingly curses D.C. weather. 

_Why the fuck does it have to be hot at seven in the morning?_

“Hey, you doin’ alright, Mr. President?” Tallmadge calls out from his spot further up the court. George smiles and bounces his basketball a few times before lining up his shot. 

The ball sails through the net with a satisfying _whoosh_ and George grins. 

“I’m doing just fine, Tallmadge.” 

Tallmadge rolls his eyes and takes a shot. 

As soon as they got back to D.C. from Florida yesterday, George had gone straight to bed, handing his work off to Adams. It was only a little after four, but George was exhausted, his short nap on the plane not doing nearly enough to combat his bone weary tiredness.

Then, around five in the morning, he woke up screaming from a nightmare. After trying, and failing, to back to sleep, George finally just got up and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts, slipping out of the bedroom and begging Tallmadge to take him down to the basketball court. 

Two hours later, they’re both drenched in sweat—especially Tallmadge; he’s still in his slacks—and in easy, jovial moods. 

It’s the best George has felt since Mt. Vernon. 

Tallmadge is obviously making a point _not_ to discuss the current, precarious state of George’s political career, and George is trying his hardest not to think about it. 

Instead, he focuses on shooting the basketball and listening to Tallmadge’s plans for a trip to the Grand Canyon with his boyfriend Caleb. 

“I didn’t know that you had a boyfriend,” George says as he shoots a jump shot. “I’ve never thought to ask; I’m sorry.” 

Tallmadge shrugs and smiles. “It doesn’t come up much in work conversation, but I figured you needed a distraction.”

George nods and watches Tallmadge mirror his shot. “How long have you been dating?” George asks as he takes another shot, grunting a little with the effort. Tallmadge pauses and seems to count in his head. 

“Hmm, almost three years now.” 

George whistles and trots over to retrieve both of their balls. “You ever think about getting married?” 

Tallmadge shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “Yeah sometimes.”

George smiles and shoots a layup, catching the ball as it swishes through the net. “When you’re ready, you really should. I loved being married. Best decision I ever made.” 

Tallmadge shoots a three and jogs to his ball. “I’m honestly not too surprised. It seems like you had a very happy marriage, Sir.”

George smiles wistfully and nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I did.” He stands up and holds his ball under his arm, taking a few deep breaths. Since when does he get this out of breath?

_Getting old sucks._

“Mr. President,” Tallmadge says softly. “Are you sure you’re okay, Sir?”

George huffs a laugh and shrugs. “I don’t really know. Right now, I feel better than I have in a while, but I can’t exactly spend the next three months out here playing basketball.” George smiles ruefully and sits down on the court, letting his ball roll away. “I’m honestly more worried about Alex than I am myself.”

Tallmadge sits down beside him, close but not quite touching. “Why?” he asks softly. George shrugs and lets his head rest on his knees. 

“I’m worried that this going to fuck up his reputation. Even if I get reelected and everything’s okay, I’m worried that people will treat him differently.”

“How so?” 

“I don’t want people to start thinking of him as ‘the president’s boyfriend.’ He’s still going to be my senior advisor, and that’s what should define him. Not the fact that we’re dating.” George rubs his hand over the bristly hairs on the top of his head and heaves a sigh. “I don’t want people to look at him like he’s my ‘First Gentleman,’ or whatever. That’s not fair to him or his talents.”

“I get that,” Tallmadge murmurs. “If you get reelected, would you want him to hold the bible and stuff during your inauguration?”

George shrugs and wipes his face off on his sleeve. “Honestly? I have no idea. I feel like that would be… inappropriate, for some reason.” George groans in frustration. “This is all just one giant fucking mess.” 

“How about we head back inside,” Tallmadge says gently, obviously sensing George’s frustration. “It’s almost seven.” 

George hauls himself to his feet and stretches his arms over his head. “Thank you for doing this, Tallmadge.”

“Anytime, Sir. I love getting to wear your ass out on the court.” Tallmadge grins impishly and George shoves his shoulder. 

“You better watch it, Tallmadge,” George jokingly warns. “I can have your ass out of here faster than Aaron Burr’s.”

Tallmadge just grins and squeezes George’s shoulder. “Whatever you say, Sir.”

\---

When George gets back to the Residence, Alex is already ready for the day, sitting up in bed furiously typing on his computer with his clunky headphones on his head. 

George tugs his sweaty clothes off and tosses them into the laundry basket before collapsing down on the bed and curling up, suddenly mourning the lost hours of sleep. 

Alex makes a harrumphing noise and swats at George as he tries to cuddle against him. 

“George,” Alex snaps. “Get off of me.”

George frowns and makes a whining noise. “What happened to my sweet Alex from yesterday?” 

“I’m busy. And you smell disgusting.” 

“What’re you working on?” 

“I’m emailing Jimmy Fallon’s producers to see about getting me an appearance, so can you please get off of me and take a shower? You’ve got shit to do today. You can’t just sit around, sleep, and play basketball all day.”

“Jesus, Alex, I know. Sorry for trying to be in a good mood,” George mutters as he goes into the bathroom to take a shower. 

Alex is right, of course, but George has always loved trying to ignore his problems. If he ignores the political scandal looming over his head, then surely it’ll just go away and he won’t have to deal with it anymore, right?

George sighs and lathers himself with soap, about to try talking to Martha—it’s a habit at this point—when he remembers Alex’s words from the other night. 

_“I think it’s ridiculous that you still talk to Martha as if she’s going to magically appear and talk to you.”_

He winces and hangs his head, watching the soap and water swirl down the drain.

The 10 year anniversary of her death is coming up soon. 

Maybe it is ridiculous that he still talks to his dead wife in the shower, but he can’t help it because sometimes he still wakes up from dreams about her with tears burning his eyes and a crushing pressure in his chest. 

“George are you almost finished?” 

George jumps when Alex knocks on the door, startling him out of his thoughts. 

“I, uh, yeah!” George calls out, flustered. “Sorry!” 

He fumbles around and turns the shower off before hastily wrapping a towel around his waist. He unlocks the bathroom door and steps out of the way as Alex comes in, muttering about needing to piss. 

George busies himself with getting ready, briefly glancing at Alex when he washes his hands at the sink. Alex doesn’t say anything or even acknowledge him, and George tries to ignore the twinge in his chest. 

“Hey Alex?” George asks as he goes into the bedroom and starts getting dressed. Alex looks up from his computer and rolls his eyes, pushing his headphones down around his neck.

“I told you that I’m busy, George. I’ve got a shit ton of stuff to coordinate, and you distracting me isn’t making it any easier.” 

“Why are you being such an asshole?” George asks exasperatedly. “I mean, what happened between yesterday afternoon and this morning? Are you mad that I went to play basketball?”

“I’m just stressed, okay?” Alex snaps, eyes flashing angrily. “I’m so fucking stressed that I could scream. I mean, do you even care about the fact that we’re wasting precious campaignopportunities to sit around at the White House and do damage control?” 

George winces and stares at the ground. “Sorry. I just needed to take my mind off of… everything… for a little while.”

“You always do, George,” Alex says snidely. “I mean, everyone is working their asses off for you, and you’re off playing basketball and taking nice leisurely showers. You know, I bet you’re loving this, aren’t you? This is your chance to finally give up the presidency.”

George’s teeth snap together with an audible click and he glares at Alex. “Don’t speak to me that way, Alex,” he spits. “And don’t put words in my mouth.” 

“Whatever. Go mope around in the Oval Office. Your running mate is trying to get in touch with you.”

“Ambassador Schuyler?”

“No, your other running mate,” Alex deadpans. “Yes, Catharine Schuyler. Herc and Toby sent her some talking points earlier, and she wants to go over them with you.”

“Fine,” George says curtly as he angrily ties his tie. 

“Make sure you eat some breakfast.” 

“I’m not hungry.”

Alex’s hands still over the keyboard and he looks up to fix George with a stern look. “Eat or you’ll make yourself sick. Don’t make me feed you like a fucking child, because I will.”

George glares at him and pulls his shoes on. “I don’t see you eating any breakfast.”

Alex closes his laptop and rolls his eyes. “I’m going to the dining room right now.”

“I’ll take my breakfast at my desk then,” George snaps, shoving his phone into his pocket. 

Alex sighs and reaches out for George’s arm, tugging him to a halt. “Wait,” he says firmly. 

George rips his arm away. “What, Alex? You going to yell at me some more? Give me a ‘motivating’ verbal berating?” 

Alex sighs and bites his lip, eyes flickering away. “Sorry. I’m just in a bad mood. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. We need to be a team right now, and we can’t do that if I’m being a giant ass.”

“Thanks,” George mutters, still feeling on edge. Alex sighs and reaches up to straighten George’s tie. 

“I’m sorry for ruining your good mood.”

“It’s fine,” George sighs. “You’re right, I should be doing more to help.”

“Will you eat breakfast with me?” Alex asks. “Please?”

“Of course.”

They go to the dining room and George busies himself with reading over a briefing and Alex hunches over his phone, most likely scrolling through Twitter. 

They both look up when someone comes in to pour them each a cup of coffee, and George wordlessly passes Alex five sugars and the cup of cream. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs as he methodically rips the sugars open and dumps them into his cup. 

George just shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee, wincing when he burns his tongue. “Be careful it’s hot.”

Alex smiles and blows on the steaming top of his coffee. 

“Good morning you two,” Harriet says as she walks in. “We’ve missed having you at the White House.” 

George smiles and sets his briefing down. “Good morning, Harriet. It’s nice to see you.” 

Harriet pats him on the shoulder. “What can I get you for breakfast this morning?” 

“Just some toast, please,” George says before taking a cautious sip of his coffee. Alex rolls his eyes and shares a smile with Harriet.

“We’ll each take an omelet, Harriet. Mine with cheese, ham, and tomatoes. George’s with just cheese. We’ll also take that toast with extra cherry jelly on the side, please.” 

“Of course, Mr. Hamilton.”

George shoots Alex an annoyed look and picks his briefing back up. “I didn’t want an omelet.”

“You need some protein,” Alex says sternly before dropping his head back down to look at his phone. George shifts his weight and sighs. 

“How’s social media looking this morning?”

“Pretty good actually. Democrats in Congress are being really supportive, and a surprising amount of Republicans are standing behind you too. I think Jefferson and Madison’s statements really put the pressure on them.”

“Any backlash over us keeping it a secret?” 

“Not really. So far our spin game is working. Most people are looking at it as us _having_ to hide it because of the negative stigma against LGBTQ+ people. Angelica’s interviews last night were really amazing, and they’re generating a lot of buzz.”

George nods and idly sips his coffee. “Have you seen any of the response to Madison and Jefferson?” he asks quietly. Alex presses his lips together and gives George a grim look. 

“Their base is pissed. I mean, sure Republicans in Congress are being supportive and falling in line, but the big, populist base they’ve built isn’t taking it well. They feel betrayed.”

“Well, voters’ memories are short. Maybe this won’t have that big of an impact on either of us. I mean, if this was happening in October and it was an October Surprise, it would be a different story, but maybe it’ll all turn out okay.”

“You’re talking like you _want_ Madison to win,” Alex says, shaking his head. “We don’t want the voters to forget this.”

“I know,” George sighs. “I just… I don’t want his political career to be completely over.” 

They both fall silent when their food is brought in, and George halfheartedly starts to pick at his omelet. 

“Eat, love,” Alex says as he butters a piece of toast and takes a bite, crumbs flying. “You need to keep your strength up. We’ve got a big day today.”

George nods and begrudgingly eats his omelet. 

The rest of the morning passes by in a bit of a blur, the feeling of staff members eyes on his back wherever he goes. People keep looking back and forth between George and Alex as if they’re waiting for them to start passionately making out on the couch in the Oval Office. 

Around lunchtime, Alex walks in with a paper sack, which he promptly drops onto George’s desk. George arches his eyebrows and Alex rolls his eyes.

“Open it.” 

George sighs, noting the way that Alex is bouncing on the balls of his feet and trying very badly to feign nonchalance, and peers into the bag. There’s a small bag of gummy bears and a long, relatively thin box. 

“What’s in the box?” George asks as he pulls it out and weighs it in his hand. 

“Open it and you’ll find out,” Alex says impatiently. George chuckles and eases the box open, revealing a sleek, navy blue ballpoint pen. He carefully takes it out of the box and weighs it in his hand. It’s not too heavy but not too light, and it’s thick enough to fit comfortably in George’s fingers. On the side, right by the silver clip, his initials are engraved in a matching silver. 

Before George can say anything, Alex chuckles nervously and shuffles his feet. “It’s okay if you hate it,” he says quickly. “I just, well, you lost your favorite pen at that campaign stop in North Carolina, and I know this one isn’t nearly as nice, but I saved up for it because I wanted to get you something. I’ve been waiting to give it to you, but then all hell broke loose, and I figured after being such an ass this morning that I’d give it to you today—”

“Alex, sweetheart,” George says firmly. “I love it. Thank you.” He reaches for Alex’s hand and squeezes it gently. “It’s beautiful.” 

Alex blushes and ducks his head, nodding. “I’m glad you like it.”

“And thank you for the gummy bears.” George grins and pulls Alex into his lap. “I’ll try to share them so I don’t eat them all.”

Alex laughs, a wonderful, almost breathless sound that makes George smile. 

“Sounds good, baby.”

George goes to answer, already tugging the bag of gummy bears open—grumbling about the stupid ‘tear here’ line—when Alex’s phone pings with a notification. After checking it, he grins and pumps his fist. “I’ve got an appearance on The Tonight Show next week. Fuck yes!”

“Shouldn’t I be the one doing late night shows?” George asks, finally pulling the gummy bears open. He pops one in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. Maybe if he concentrates on chewing them, he won’t eat as many. 

“Nah,” Alex says as he grabs a fistful of the gummy bears and shoves them into his mouth. “I’ll go on and get to share a bunch of personal anecdotes and shit. People love that stuff, getting to hear all about the personal lives of powerful people.”

“Alex,” George warns, giving him a wary look. “Don’t say anything that’ll embarrass me or backfire on us.” Alex’s mouth pops open in mock-indignation and he throws his hand over his heart, dramatically gasping. 

“Me? Say something embarrassing? Never!”

George narrows his eyes and eats another gummy bear (orange, his favorite), and Alex rolls his eyes. “I promise I won’t say anything embarrassing.” Then, with a sigh, “scouts’ honor. Seriously.” He raises the three fingers to reiterate his point.

“Alright. I trust you.” 

Alex grins and picks up a gummy bear, studying it closely before holding it up to George’s mouth. George’s mouth obediently drops open and Alex smirks after he drops it onto George’s tongue. 

“Who knew seductively feeding you food was the easiest way to get you to eat,” he quips before dropping a kiss onto the top of George’s head. 

“Fuck off,” George mutters, unable to suppress a grin. Alex gets up out of his lap and playfully waggles his ass.

“Love you too!” he calls on his way out the door, raising his arms in a Nixonian double peace sign.

After the door swings shut, George promptly shoves a handful of the gummy bears into his mouth. Screw being thoughtful.

As he goes back to his work, editing a speech Herc gave him this morning, he smiles to himself. Maybe they really can survive this. With the Republicans playing nice and the Democrats on their side, it sure seems like everything’s coming up roses. 

*******

“Are you nervous?” George asks for about the millionth time as he fiddles with Alex’s tie. Alex rolls his eyes and bats George’s hands away.

“George, honey, I think you’re more nervous than I am,” Alex says as he looks at himself in the full-length mirror. After an embarrassing amount of deliberation, he’d decided to go casual but not _too_ casual. He’s in a light blue dress shirt paired with a navy tie, a heather gray cardigan buttoned up, a pair of skinny khakis that show off his ass, and light brown wingtip oxfords. All in all, he thinks he looks pretty damn good. 

“I know, I know,” George says, backing away from Alex and sitting down on the couch. “I just want everything to go well for you.” Alex sits next to him and shakes his head, kissing George sweetly on the cheek. 

“I’ll be fine, baby.”

They both look over when there’s a knock on the door, and instinctually move away from each other. George clears his throat and smooths down his suit jacket. 

“Come in.”

Jimmy Fallon sticks his head in and grins, eyes dancing. “Hello Mr. President,” he says in a sing-song voice, mock bowing. “And hello Mr. Hamilton.” 

George and Alex both stand, and George shakes Jimmy’s hand, smiling warmly. “Hi Jimmy. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Alex also shakes his hand and grins, excitedly bouncing on his toes. “I am so ready for this,” he says, and Jimmy laughs. 

“I’m glad you’re excited. Just wanted to say hi before the show starts. I’ll see you soon.”

Alex and George both nod, murmuring goodbyes as Jimmy slips back through the door, winking at Alex on his way out. 

Alex grins and picks up one of the pastries thoughtfully set out on a platter for them. (He’s been eyeing them all night). 

“This is going to be _so fun_ ” he says around a mouthful of the delicious ass cherry pastry. 

George shoots him a withering look and adjusts his cuffs. “Don’t talk with you mouth full.”

“Yes Mom,” Alex retorts, plopping back down on the couch next to him. “Do you want some? It’s really good.” 

George stares at the pastry, and Alex can practically hear the internal argument George must be having with himself. 

_“The doctor says that I need to try to cut out the sugar from my diet. I’m not getting any younger.”_

_“But damn that pastry looks good.”_

Alex waves it in front of George’s face and grins wickedly. “C’mon old man,” he teases. “Live a little.”

George sighs and leans forward to take a bite out of the pastry, his eyes fluttering closed. 

“Damn that’s good,” he says after swallowing. 

“Told you so!” 

Alex finishes the pastry in two more bites and kisses George squarely on the mouth, enjoying how sweet the kiss is. George still has a bit of frosting on his lips, and Alex licks it off, earning a chuckle from George. Alex just grins and leans into George’s side.

“Okay, I know I’ve already said this a million times, but this is going to be so fucking dope,” he gushes.

“Remember, no sex jokes _or_ innuendoes.”

Alex groans and pulls out of the embrace, pulling his lips down into a pout. “C’mon, that’s no fair,” he grumbles. George just pats his arm and shrugs.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You are absolutely no fun. This is why I’m doing the late night shows and you’re sticking to an interview with 60 Minutes.”

There’s another knock at the door and a producer explains that he’s here to escort them backstage. The poor guy looks a little starstruck when he glances up at George, and Alex almost laughs out loud. Sometimes he forgets that George intimidates people. If only they knew what a giant softy he was.

George nods for Alex to go first, and he rests his hand rest lightly on Alex’s lower back as they navigate the backstage area. The pimply, scrawny producer nervously rattles off some instructions that Alex half listens to—“stand in the wings and wait for the countdown when we come back from commercial; go on after they say your name—John over there will cue you; you can either shake hands or hug Jimmy—he’ll follow your lead.” 

He nods like he’s totally listening, mostly to get the guy to shut up, and gets into position. He leans forward just a little to peer out at the crowd and swallows nervously. George must sense it because he affectionately squeezes Alex’s hip and leans down to kiss his ear.

“You’re gonna do great,” he murmurs. “And I love you so, so much.”

Alex blushes and shakes his head. “Stop being so sappy,” he mutters, his tone teasing to let George know that he’s not actually annoyed. “And I love you too.”

The producer starts counting down and George gives the top of Alex’s head one more kiss before stepping back. 

The music starts up and John cues him, so Alex walks out, putting on what he hopes is an easy, relaxed smile as the crowd cheers. He’s not adverse to hugging, but he decides to go in for the handshake, and, true to the producer’s words, Jimmy takes it in stride. 

After they exchange several warm hellos and wave to the crowd, Alex sits down and folds his hands in his lap, looking expectantly at Jimmy. 

“It’s so great to have you here,” he enthuses. “When my producers told me you were coming on, I actually squealed a little. How’s it feel to be a scandalous celebrity?”

“Pretty cool I guess?” Alex laughs, shrugging. “I’ve finally got enough Twitter notifications to merit turning them off on my phone, so that’s pretty impressive by my standards.”

The crowd laughs and Alex feels a boost of confidence.

_That’s right, I’m cool and funny as fuck,_ he thinks smugly to himself. 

“Alright, so, I’m not gonna beat around the bush, Alex, because we all know why you’re here,” Jimmy says in mock seriousness, leaning forward on his desk. “What’s the president like in bed?” Alex can feel himself turning beet red and Jimmy grins. “I mean, I’m dying to know: Does he snore?” 

Alex lets out a sigh of relief and chuckles a little nervously. “Whew. I was about to start praying for a hole to open up in the floor so I could escape!” Everyone laughs again and Alex absently smooths down a wrinkle in his cardigan. “No, he doesn’t really snore unless he’s sick and his nose is stopped up. However, let me tell you, sometimes his morning breath is pretty bad, but I never call him out on it. I’m nice like that.” 

“See, this is great, because before we didn’t have anyone to ask these questions to, and you can’t exactly ask the president if he snores. You’re really doing a great service to all the fan boys and girls out there.” 

The crowd erupts in cheers and Alex grins, glancing over to see George sheepishly smiling and ducking his head from his place in the wings. 

“Well, you know, it’s an honor to serve my country in any way I can,” Alex quips. 

“Alright, another burning question, what’s his favorite food?”

“Oh gosh, he’s _such_ a boring eater. He likes grilled cheeses a lot, and there’s this chicken casserole stuff that the White House chef makes that he’s obsessed with… He also won’t admit it for some reason, but he’s got a huge sweet tooth. He could probably live off of gummy bears and strawberry ice cream.”

“So he’s like a closet sweets eater?”

“Exactly! I don’t blame him though. You can only come out of so many closets at one time.” 

The crowd, and Jimmy all laugh again, but then Jimmy sobers up and leans forward in his desk.

“Seriously though, about that. I think that everyone is honestly a little shocked. Of course, I’m way more shocked that Jefferson and Madison came out in support of you. Did you know they were going to do that?”

“Yeah, I did. The senator actually called George a couple of times to discuss it with him. We’re both really appreciative of their support. I think it especially means a lot to George, because he was really expecting to be eaten alive by Republicans, but a lot of Congressional Republicans have come out in support of us, which gives me a lot of hope for our country moving forward.” 

“Okay, we need to go back to not-so-serious stuff for a second,” Jimmy says and Alex nods, quirking an eyebrow. Jimmy grins and claps his hands excitedly. “Do you always call him George? Because, for some reason, that’s just really cute.”

Alex laughs and nods. “In private I do call him George, but I stick to professional protocol when we’re at work. His chief of staff, Gilbert Lafayette, who’s a really close friend of his, also calls him George in private.”

Jimmy nods and grins, pretending to swoon. “Alright, that’s adorable. But back to politics—a phrase I’m sure you must hate. Are you worried about the effect this may have on the election? Scandals have obviously derailed presidential campaigns before. Just look at Gary Hart.”

Alex nods and shifts his weight, crossing his legs. “We were definitely worried at first, but the reaction to the news has actually been overwhelmingly positive, especially on social media, so we’re feeling pretty confident. It also, like we were talking about earlier, really helps to have Jefferson and Madison on our side. I can’t say it enough: Their support means the world to George and me.”

The rest of the interview passes by in similar fashion, and Alex really enjoys the little game they play afterward, some word game that Alex narrowly wins. 

As soon as he exits the stage, George wraps him up in a big hug, and Alex laughs. 

“Damn, you trying to suffocate me back here?” Alex quips. George pulls out of the hug and smiles a little sheepishly. 

“Sorry, I’m just proud of you. That was great, Alex.”

Alex shrugs and smirks. “What can I say? I knew I’d be America’s sweetheart soon enough. I’ve always identified just a little with Jackie O. I might go with that, the whole ‘glamorous significant other’ aesthetic.”

George rolls his eyes and slings his arm around Alex’s shoulders. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. But I think you’re a little too loud-mouthed to be a proper Jackie O. She was very demure, you know.”

“Hey now,” Alex teasingly scolds him. “I never said I was perfect. Just glamorous and staggeringly handsome.” 

“I don’t know about the glamorous part, but staggeringly handsome is pretty spot on,” George murmurs as they follow the Secret Service agents to the motorcade. 

“Yeah, well, get ready baby, because with an ass like mine and those damn thighs of yours, we’re about to be dubbed the hottest couple in politics. Just you wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') 
> 
> Tbh, was starting to low key feel a little burned out on this fic/series, but I persevered.
> 
> Fun autobiographical note: like George, I have an affinity for nice ballpoint pens and actually collect them. (I told y'all that I'm a huge ass nerd)
> 
> No idea how many more chapters this fic will have... maybe one or two. 
> 
> As always, your comments are incredibly motivating and make me happy.


	11. The Pleasure's All Mine, Mr. President

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical fact: Angella Reid served as Chief Usher (head of the White House Staff) from Oct. 2011-May 2017 (Trump fired her). She was the first (black) woman to hold the job. I just made her the chief usher in this b/c George wouldn't have fired her lbr.

The campaign passes by in what Alex can comfortably call a bit of a blur. 

It’s a constant whirlwind of repetitive stump speeches, donor lunches and dinners, debates, and interviews. 

After a month or so, the coverage of the ‘Hamilton Affair’ starts to dwindle, the media getting bored of covering the same non-scandal over and over again. The conflict and licentiousness that usually accompany a political scandal just aren’t there, and it starts to get a little old. There’s a surprising amount of Republican support, with the ultra-conservative populists and misguided religious zealots being the only real sources of hate. 

Of course, a lot of those voters are Madison’s people, and his poll numbers continue to drop every day. 

By the end of October, George is up to a 10-point lead. 

And maybe it makes sense, because their ticket checks off a lot of boxes: With Catharine Schuyler as Veep, they’ve got a black woman and a bisexual, black man poised to be two of the most powerful people in the world. It’s enough to make progressive’s mouth’s water.

John Adams is pissed, of course, and makes a helluva lot of snarky, mean comments about George and Alex, but Alex is trying to be more mature because apparently his actions reflect on George now, which makes both of them uncomfortable. 

There are two weeks left until Election Day, and they’re home for a quick day stop at the White House before heading to Ohio State where George is giving a speech on climate change. George and Alex are in the Oval Office looking over the speech Herc just sent over when there’s a knock on the door.

George scowls and looks up. “Come in!”

Betsy sticks her head in and smiles apologetically. “Sorry Mr. President, but Angella Reid, the Chief Usher, is here to see you. 

George frowns but nods. “Okay,” he says slowly, a little confused. “Send her in.” 

Betsy disappears, and a few seconds later Angella is walking in, her patent, bright smile on her face. 

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. President,” she says in her slight, melodic Jamaican accent. “But I was wondering if I could speak to Mr. Hamilton about a few things.”

“Me?” Alex asks before he can think about it. “Look, I know that Argos has been digging in the bushes. I think maybe he’s just nervous because we’ve been gone so often,” Alex says a little defensively. 

_She better not come in here and rag on my son!_

She smiles and laughs, already shaking her head. “No, no. It’s not that. I wanted to talk to you about the china.”

George and Alex both give her blank looks. “Like the country?” Alex finally asks dumbly. She throws her head back and laughs, her dangly earrings tinkling as she does so. Alex frowns and bristles, but George puts a warm hand on his knee, a gentle warning.

Once Angella recovers from her laughing, she smiles fondly. “I’m talking about the White House china. Usually each president has a special pattern picked out just for them, but so far President Washington has been using the Franklin Roosevelt china since there was no one to pick it out for him.” 

Realization dawns on Alex and he feels his face heat up. She’s treating him like George’s First Gentleman. Alex opens his mouth to say something, but George beats him to it. 

“That isn’t Mr. Hamilton’s job,” he says coldly. “He’s my senior advisor. I’ve survived an entire four years using someone else’s china, so four more years using it really shouldn’t make a difference. Plus, I haven’t been reelected yet. Lets not get ahead of ourselves.” 

Angella looks taken aback by George’s brusque tone, but she quickly recovers. “Of course, Mr. President. Have a nice evening, Sir, and good luck with the rest of the campaign.” 

She turns and hustles out of the room before George can say anything else, and as soon as the door closes, George hops out of his chair and clenches his fists. 

“I can’t believe she would come in here and ask you about the White House _china_ ,” George shouts. “I mean who the fuck cares?!” 

Alex quickly gets up and puts his hand on George’s arm. 

“George, love, calm down,” he says gently. “It’s okay.” He slowly wraps his arms around George’s waist and squeezes him in a hug. “It’s okay,” he repeats. 

Alex presses his ear to George’s chest and listens to how hard his heart is beating.

“Sorry, I’m just—I knew this would happen. I’m so sorry,” George says guiltily. Alex frowns and rubs circles into the small of George’s back, trying to calm him down.

“It’s really okay. I’m not upset, George.”

George clears his throat and takes a calming breath. “We need to get back to that speech. I don’t want to give Herc the edits too late.”

Alex releases George out of the hug, thankful for the change in topic, and sits back down on the couch. He tries to crack some jokes with George, but all of them fall flat and he eventually gives up with a resigned sigh. 

That night they trying having sex, but everything feels off—a rare occurrence for them—so they scrap the whole endeavor and give each other blow jobs, but Alex can tell that George isn’t really enjoying it. 

Alex is pulling out all of his usual tricks: Licking up the side of George’s cock with the flat of his tongue, sucking on his balls, and tonguing his head over into the side of his cheek. 

But George just sits there silently, and _yeah_ he’s not a big talker or moaner, but he usually makes these desperate little panting noises that are so damn hot Alex could come just thinking about them, and the lack of response is really dampening the whole experience for Alex. 

Eventually he just raises his head, letting George’s cock slip free, and frowns. “George, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, gently running his hand up and down his side. 

“I don’t know, I’m just not feeling it tonight I guess,” he sighs. Alex frowns and squeezes George’s cock where it’s curved up against his stomach, heavy and leaking precum. 

“You sure about that?” he tries to tease. 

“Yeah, I don’t know. Just ignore it and it’ll go away.” 

Alex frowns and crawls out from between George’s legs, watching forlornly as he tugs on a pair of basketball shorts and crawls back into bed. 

“Is this about the china thing from earlier?” Alex asks as George turns the lamp off and wraps his strong arms around Alex’s waist. 

George exhales a puff of air against the back of Alex’s neck and sighs. “Kind of, yeah.” 

“I told you that I’m not bothered by it. It’s kinda funny, actually. I mean, could you imagine me picking out china? Maybe I should just for the hell of it. Who knows, it might be fun.”

“No,” George snaps. “You’re not my First Gentleman. You’re my senior advisor. I don’t want you picking out china patterns. I want you in the Sit Room with me discussing military strategy. You’re not some pretty, smiling figurehead there to hang off my arm and implement softball, easy issue agendas like children’s health.” 

“You know that’s what Martha would’ve had to do, right?”

George instantly tenses beside him, inhaling sharply. “Don’t talk about Martha,” George snaps. “It would’ve been different for her.” He jerks his arms away and rolls over. 

Alex sighs and rolls over so he’s facing George’s back. “Hey, come on George, I was just pointing out the obvious. If it would’ve been different for Martha, then it can be different for me. I can pick out the damn china and still be in the Sit Room. I honestly don’t mind.” 

George doesn’t answer him, so Alex reaches out to touch his back, lightly running his fingertips across George’s smooth skin. 

“I don’t want people to look at you differently,” George finally says, his voice husky. Alex sighs and snakes his arms around George’s waist. 

“Oh George,” he says in a voice that he hopes isn’t too patronizing. “No one is going to think of me differently, and if they do, I’ll just rhetorically kick their ass and show them how much smarter I am,” Alex teases. 

George takes a deep breath, his stomach moving up and down under Alex’s hand. “If you really want to pick out the china then you can,” he mutters. 

“Any preferences?” Alex asks, poking George in the stomach. 

“Something simple, preferably with gold and navy. Keep the borders thin, and I’d like the eagle to be in the center of the plates, but have it be in full color rather than a plain monochrome gold or blue.”

Alex can’t help it and he starts to laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, George. It sounds like you’ve put some thought into this.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters, and Alex only starts to laugh harder. 

“I’m sorry, you’re just so cute. I’ll make sure to tailor the china to your taste.” 

George makes a harrumphing noise and Alex squeezes him in a hug, still chuckling. 

The next morning, he tells Angella that he’ll pick out a new china pattern after George wins. 

\---

The next two weeks are almost painfully exhausting as they campaign _hard_ , sometimes hitting as many as four states in one day. Alex is perpetually tired and he finds himself basically living off of coffee and energy bars. 

But it’s also exhilarating—Alex honestly loves campaigning—and it’s amazing how much lighter he feels now that the burden of George and his secret is gone. 

Of course, he and George still make a concerted effort to try and keep any PDA on the campaign trail under wraps. They don’t want to be _too_ open about it because, even though it may be 2020, there will always be haters. 

But despite that, some moments still get captured. One day backstage before one of George’s speeches, Alex comes up behind him and starts rubbing his shoulders, and the campaign photographer catches a picture of them right as Alex leans over and kisses the top of George’s head. 

Another time, he gets a picture of George asleep in Alex’s lap on the bus. Alex’s nose is buried in a book, but he has one hand cupping George’s face, idly rubbing his cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

And the one that makes every single Buzzfeed editor simultaneously cream their pants is a picture of Alex standing up on his tiptoes, giving George a sweet kiss backstage before an interview. 

Alex fucking loves it, and obsessively reads the comments on the Buzzfeed articles about them, excitedly reading George the best ones. 

He nearly squeals when they release an entire article dedicated to pictures of his ass.

George just looks at him and wearily rolls his eyes; Lafayette tells him to get over himself; and Angelica snatches his phone away, threatening to look through his camera roll unless he shuts the fuck up. 

He quickly acquiesces and keeps his obsessing to himself

_They’re just jealous because my ass is officially a celebrity, finally getting the recognition it deserves._

That night, when he’s still reveling in the afterglow of having his ass declared a celebrity, he and George go to their hotel room—they’ve stopped having to book two rooms and sneak around—and George shoves him onto the bed, climbing on top of him. 

“Everyone better remember who you belong to,” he snarls in a rare show of possessive dominance. “This ass is mine, baby. You got it? All mine.”

George fucks him so hard that Alex knows he’s going to feel it for at least the next three days. 

After they’re cleaned up and cuddled in bed, he grins and pulls George into a sloppy, lazy kiss. 

“I had no idea you had that in you,” he teases. George gives Alex a wicked grin. 

“I’m full of surprises.” 

\---

Election Day 2020 feels a lot like Election Day 2016. They’re even in the same hotel. On the way over, Alex jokingly asks George if he’s going to lock himself in the bedroom again. 

He does. Makes a beeline straight for the room and locks the door. 

Alex rolls his eyes and watches some of the coverage, nervously sipping a gin and tonic. 

Like every election ever, the polls narrowed considerably in the last week alone, but George is still around five points ahead, which is a pretty solid lead. Despite that, everyone is still incredibly nervous. 

Alex eventually finds himself outside on the balcony, shivering with his cold drink in his hand. Even though he knows that George hates it, he bought himself a pack of shitty cigarettes and takes one out. He’s always been a nervous smoker. 

“This déjà vu is too intense,” Angelica quips from behind him. He turns to see her holding a gin martini and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Yeah it seriously is, right down to your fancy little cocktail.” 

Angelica cocks an eyebrow and takes a pointed sip of her drink. “Fuck off Hamilton.” 

Alex grins and sits beside her, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray. “You nervous?” 

She shrugs and drums her manicured nails against the table. “Kind of,” she says thoughtfully, “but not too bad. I think we can win it.” 

“What’s your mom think?” 

Angelica laughs and shrugs. “She’s excited. I mean, she might be not only the first woman VP, but also the first black VP. That’s pretty cool. Black women don’t tend to get very far in politics.” 

“I’d say you’re doing alright. You could run for office after this. Congresswoman Schuyler doesn’t sound half bad.”

“Yeah, well, neither does Senator Hamilton,” she shoots back, smiling. 

Alex chuckles nervously and takes a sip of his drink. “Now, I don’t know about that. I think I’m too hot headed for politics. I’ve got like no censor.” 

“Is that such a bad thing? I think it would be refreshing.”

Alex lights up another cigarette and shrugs. “I mean, I’d have to talk to George about it. I’m sure he’d be fucking ecstatic. He wants me to go into politics so badly.” 

“Do you think you’ll get married?” she asks softly. Alex sucks in sharply and starts to cough, the smoke hot in his throat. He takes a gulp of his drink and clears his throat. 

“I mean, yeah? Maybe? We’ve discussed it before. I told him I’d “marry” him once we got out of office, back when it was all a secret, you know? Just a little ceremonial thing. But now…” Alex trails off and blows out a stream of smoke. “Now it would be official.” 

Angelica finishes her drink and nods. “You could also adopt kids now.” 

Alex winces and takes a long drag. “I guess, yeah. I honestly feel like I would be a horrible father. It was fun to joke about me being a girl scout troop leader and shit, but I don’t know shit about being a father. I never had one to learn from.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a great dad,” Angelica says as she gets up. “I’ll see you later. Don’t smoke too much; you know George doesn’t like it.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Alex jokes, sighing once Angelica closes the balcony door. 

Alex tries to imagine himself being a dad, but it’s a hard image to conjure up. He already knows that George would be a stellar dad, can tell by how he treats Geo and Henriette, but Alex always feels awkward around them. Geo is older and easier to communicate with, but Henriette is only one and a half, and most of the time Alex can’t understand what the fuck she’s trying to say. George though? George is fantastic with her. He can make her go from crying to laughing in no time at all. It’s impressive. 

Alex just seems to make her cry harder and usually shies away from having much to do with her whenever Lafayette brings her by. She’s here with them tonight, and earlier today when they were at Mt. Vernon, George was walking around the living room on his hands and knees with her perched on his back, her little hands clutching his collar so she wouldn’t fall off. It was so adorable that Alex almost died.

George is honestly a natural when it comes to kids, and Alex is the giant suck: Awkward, uncomfortable, and shy.

He sighs and puts his cigarette out in the ashtray before pulling out another. 

_Just one more for my self loathing, sad ass self._

“You know I hate when you smoke.”

Alex’s hands still, thumb resting on the lighter, when George walks over and starts to rub his shoulders. 

“I know; I’m sorry,” Alex sighs as he takes the cigarette out of his mouth and stuffs it back into the pack. “I’m just nervous.” 

“It’s okay. We all are.” 

George continues to knead the tense muscles in Alex’s shoulders and he feels himself start to relax.

“That feels nice,” he murmurs. George chuckles. 

“Angelica said that you seemed sad, so I figured I should come out here and investigate.” 

“I honestly can’t believe she got you out of the bedroom,” Alex says. George chuckles again and leans over to kiss the top of Alex’s head. 

“I couldn’t have my Alex feeling sad.” 

Alex smiles when George plops down in the chair Angelica recently vacated. He looks handsome in his neat, black suit, and Alex gives him an obvious once over, which earns an amused smirk from George. 

“You don’t seem as freaked out as you were the first time around,” Alex comments. George shrugs and stretches his arms above his head. 

“Weirdly enough, I’m not, even though I have arguably way more to lose.” 

Alex shrugs and picks at an imaginary piece of lint on his sleeve. “I’ll be proud of you no matter what,” he says softly. 

George leans over and nudges Alex’s chin up with his finger. Alex reluctantly meets his eyes. 

“What’s wrong, Alex?” George asks, his breath coming out in a faint, white puff. “What’s got you so down?” 

“Do you still want to get married?” he asks, wincing after he says it. George’s mouth pops open in surprise but his eyes go all gooey and Alex has to look away, suddenly uncomfortable with the way that George is looking at him like he just hung the moon. 

“Of course I do,” he breathes. “Do you?” 

Alex looks back over at him, frowning when he sees the uncertainty creeping onto George’s face. He nervously bites his lip and leans back in his seat, nervously fiddling with his hands. “Because we don’t have to if you don’t want to, now that it would be… real or whatever,” he says quickly. “I’d totally understand.”

“Oh shut up, George,” Alex says, reaching forward to take his hand. “Of course I still want to get married. We practically are already.”

George squeezes his hand so hard that it hurts and immediately grins, his eyes quickly getting glassy with tears. “That’s great,” he says, laughing a little breathlessly. Alex laughs too and beckons George closer before pulling him into a slow, languid kiss. “I’m sorry that I don’t have a ring or anything,” George says against his lips. “I can get you one. We can pick it out together. Unless you don’t want an engagement ring. Then that’s totally fine. We can just do wedding rings. It’s whatever you want,” George rambles. Alex chuckles and kisses George, cutting him off.

“George, love, hush. We’ll get it all figured out. For right now, I just want to kiss you before we go win a presidential election.” 

“You really think we’ll win?” George whispers. 

Alex rolls his eyes and gives George an exaggerated, smacking kiss. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t lose, baby.” 

George laughs and lets Alex pull him up, lacing their fingers together. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” George says, a stupid, sappy little smile still stretched across his face. 

They walk into the room hand-in-hand, and Alex revels in the fact that no one even bats an eye. Sometimes he forgets that they really don’t have to hide anymore. 

Lafayette walks up and slings an arm around both of them, giving them each a kiss on the cheek. 

“You two look weirdly happy,” he says slyly. “Did you just get it on out there? Because I bet Adrienne 10 bucks that you two just had a quickie out on the balcony.”

George wrinkles his nose, physically recoiling, and Alex laughs, swatting at Laf’s head. 

“Jesus, Laf,” Alex says. “We were just talking.”

Lafayette narrows his eyes. “Are you sure? Because George has that sweet little lovey-dovey look on his face he usually gets after he’s just had a good fuck.”

“Gilbert,” George groans. “Please stop.” 

“Hey it’s true! Don’t blame me, blame your face.”

Alex shakes his head and affectionally pats Lafayette’s back. “Sorry man, looks like you owe your wife 10 bucks.”

Lafayette scowls and rolls his eyes. “Whatever it all comes from the same bank account,” he grumbles. 

George smiles at Alex, raising his eyebrows in an obvious question. Alex nods, encouraging him with his eyes. George smiles even bigger and clears his throat. 

“Alex and I are going to get married,” he says to Lafayette, keeping his voice down. Lafayette’s eyes immediately widen and he makes a very undignified, slightly disturbing squealing noise, which earns them a few stares. 

“Oh my God, I’m so happy for you!” he says, and George shoots him a look. 

“Announce it to the world, why don’t ya?” George quips, but there’s no real bite behind it. Lafayette just keeps grinning. 

“I call dibs on best man, just so you know.” 

George rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Who else would I ask, Gil?”

“Hey, you never know,” Lafayette says, still grinning. 

From the other room, they hear people shouting and George glances at his watch. 

“Shit, they must be calling it soon,” he says nervously. Alex squeezes his hand. 

“Whatever happens, happens,” he reminds him.

George nods, taking a deep breath. “Alright, well, lets get this over with.” 

Lafayette drops his arms and pats them both on the back before he goes over to stand with Adrienne and the kids. George and Alex stand behind the couch, and Alex snakes his arm around George’s waist. 

Wolf Blitzer and John King are up on the screen, John pointing at the jigsaw counties of Ohio, now a mixture of red and blue. 

_Come on Ohio_ , Alex thinks to himself. He squeezes George’s waist in a hug, and George flashes him a nervous smile. He kind of looks like he might throw up, so Alex scouts out the nearest trashcan just in case. 

“This is it!” Toby suddenly squawks from his spot on the couch. 

Beside him, George inhales sharply, and Alex kisses his shoulder. 

As soon as they show George’s face on the screen and announce the results, the room erupts into cheers. Alex and George immediately turn to look at each other, and George wraps him up in a huge hug, lifting him up off the ground. Alex laughs and buries his face in George’s neck as George continues to hug him. 

“I love you so much,” he says in Alex’s ear. “I couldn’t have done this without you.” 

He finally sets Alex back down on the floor and Alex stumbles a little, grinning.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, George,” he says. “I’m _so_ proud of you.” 

George laughs, suddenly jostled by a group of staffers who come up to slap him on the back and offer congratulations. 

Alex turns and finds Angelica and they hug each other tightly, both laughing breathlessly. 

After several minutes of shouting and popping bottles of champagne, Lafayette announces that Congressman Madison is on the phone. George takes the phone, briefly meeting Alex’s eyes before he steps into the other room. 

When he comes back into the room, his eyes are wet with tears, but he’s still smiling. “Congressman Madison—” He stops and clears his throat before beginning again. “Congressman Madison has officially conceded. Congratulations everyone. We get to keep our jobs!”

Everyone cheers again and George bends down to hoist Henriette onto his shoulders. She laughs and claps her small hands, and Alex gets a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach. That could easily be their daughter up on George’s shoulders. 

Alex feels tears pushing on the backs of his eyes and he blinks them away as he walks back over to George. 

He smiles down at Alex, his eyes shining. “Thank you Alex,” he says softly. “For everything.” 

Alex smiles and raises up to press a kiss to the corner of George’s mouth. 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. President.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') this is probs gonna have one more chapter!
> 
> Hope everyone has enjoyed this?? I was pretty nervous abt writing this particular fic because I didn't want to fuck it up and make the politics of it super unrealistic, so I'm sorry if anyone is disappointed. 
> 
> Also, yay for bipartisan support of George and Alex. My fave Republicans are the tolerant ones lmao


	12. So Help Me God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love this chapter, but I honestly just wanted to finish this fic so I could get onto the next one in this series lmao.

“Should we coordinate tie colors or is that cheesy?” Alex calls from inside the closet. “You know, like you’ll do a dark blue and I’ll do a light blue? Or we could do the same tie color, both of us could wear a navy tie. Or, you know, we can just not worry about it and do whatever.” 

George steps into the closet and looks at Alex hunched over the chest with all their ties, staring at the drawer with the blue ones. He’s only half dressed—his suit pants on but still bare chested—and George smiles at the picture he makes. 

“We could coordinate ties. I wouldn’t be against both wearing navy, or the light and dark blue. It’s whatever you want, love.”

Alex scowls at George and goes back to looking at the ties. “I was looking for some _actual_ input, but thanks,” he grumbles. 

George laughs and pulls his pants on, carefully tucking in his white tank and checking for creases. “We’ll worry about the ties in a minute. We’ve still got plenty of time.” 

“No we don’t,” Alex whines. “We have to be downstairs in an hour.”

“Alexander, just take a breath for me. It’s going to be fine.” 

Alex heaves a sigh and reluctantly leaves the closet, letting George reel him into a hug. 

“How are you not nervous?” Alex mutters. George smooths Alex’s hair down and kisses the top of his head. 

“I already know what to expect, so it’s not so daunting this time around. I’m sure the nerves will hit in a little bit, but I’m gonna have you with me so it won’t be too bad.”

Alex groans and pulls out of the hug to go into the bathroom. He leans forward to look in the mirror for a few seconds before turning around and sitting up on the counter. “Can you help me shave?” he asks, sticking his bottom lip out. “You’re so good at it, and I know that I’ll just cut myself.” 

George smiles and goes into the bathroom, gathering up Alex’s razor and shaving cream. He gently lathers Alex’s face and carefully starts to drag the razor over his skin, tipping Alex’s head up so he can get his chin. 

George loves helping Alex shave. It’s so domestic, so _intimate_ , and George has always loved that aspect of being in a relationship. In a way, it almost feels more intimate than sex. It’s more personal. 

Once George finishes and pats Alex’s face with aftershave, he steps back to admire his handiwork. He is pretty damn good at this. Maybe in another life he could’ve been a barber.

_Mom would’ve loved that_ , George thinks sarcastically.

“Hey, what’re you thinking about, baby?” Alex asks softly. 

George blinks when Alex wraps his arms around George’s waist, tugging him forward to stand in between his spread legs. George smiles and drapes his arms over Alex’s shoulders. 

“Nothing important,” he murmurs. Alex arches an eyebrow and kisses George’s chest. 

“You sure you’re not nervous?”

“I know I’ll be nervous once the ceremony gets closer, but right now I really am fine.”

Alex squeezes the soft skin at George’s waist, and George cringes. He really should workout more. He bats Alex’s hands away. “Stop messing with my fat, old man hips,” George mutters. Alex just laughs and pokes George’s stomach. 

“You’re soft, not fat,” Alex chides. “And you’re not that old.”

“You complained about how old you were when you turned 30,” George points out, mostly in jest, but he can’t help the insecurity that works it’s way into his tone. He’s turning 40 next month. He’ll be _middle aged._ That sounds absolutely disgusting, and not to mention, incredibly depressing. 

Alex just rubs his hands up and down George’s chest, hands ghosting over his pecs, which have also started to go a little soft. 

“You’re _not_ old,” Alex repeats, fixing George with a stern look. “I promise.” 

“But—”

“And you’re comfy. I like you a little soft. Gives me something to lay against.” To articulate his point, Alex squeezes George in a tight hug and presses his ear to George’s chest, right over his heart. 

George heaves a sigh and pets Alex’s hair. “We should probably finish getting ready.”

Alex groans and squeezes George a little harder. “What if we just skipped the inaugural ceremony and swore you in right here.”

George rolls his eyes and pulls out of Alex’s arms. “Sorry sweetheart. We gotta go.” Alex grumbles under his breath but slides off the counter, following George into the closet. 

They dress in companionable silence, shrugging on their dress shirts and finding their shoes. George decides on slightly matching navy ties. He hands Alex a plain navy tie, while he opts to wear a navy tie with thin, diagonal, light blue stripes. 

Once they’re both dressed, they stand in front of the mirror and study themselves. 

They make a nice pair. 

\---

As soon as they exit the White House to get into the motorcade, cameras start flashing and clicking, and journalists shout questions that they have to know George won’t answer. 

They stand on the stairs for a few pictures, plastering big smiles on their faces. Alex’s hand is almost uncomfortably warm in his own, and he isn’t sure whose hand is the one sweating. Probably both. 

Alex squeezes George’s hand reassuringly, and it relaxes him a little, brings him back down to earth. This part of the job has always made him anxious—all the loud, disorienting shouts and camera snaps make him feel almost dizzy. 

They finally get the go-ahead to get into the motorcade, and George drops Alex’s hand so he can help him into the car, patting the small of his back. 

The heat in the car is cranked up to full blast and George quickly turns it down once they get inside, noticing that his hands are shaking. He figured the nerves would hit him eventually. 

“You okay?” Alex asks softly, reaching over to squeeze George’s knee. 

“This is the first time we’ve been so public with our relationship,” George says a little breathlessly. 

“I know. That’s the point, remember?” Alex murmurs. “We’re making a statement.”

Of course George knows; they’ve been over the strategy a million times: Introduce them as an actual, visible couple on the same day as the inauguration for maximum exposure, get everyone used to them being together on a national stage. 

George’s stomach twists when he thinks about the inaugural balls tonight, wonders how everyone is going to react to Alex and him dancing together. 

Sure everyone was supportive of him and Alex when it was some scandal with a cause, but the reality of them being together? He’s just waiting for the backlash to hit. 

_At least I’m already reelected. Not much they can do at this point_. 

“George you’re shaking,” he hears Alex says. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” 

George blinks hard and rubs his eyes. He needs to get his shit together. 

“Yeah sorry. I’m fine. Just starting to get a little nervous.” 

Alex smiles fondly and kisses George gently. “It’s okay. I am too.” He kisses George again and pats his cheek. George smiles and squeezes Alex’s knee.

“You’re gonna do great. I know it.” 

“I sure hope so,” Alex quips. “All I’ve gotta do is hold a fucking bible. If I mess that up then I should just quit while I’m ahead.” 

\---

The ceremony goes by both agonizingly slowly and surprisingly fast. It’s over before George even thinks about it. 

His voice rings loudly as he says “So help me God,” finishing the oath for the second and last time.

He gives his inaugural address, almost getting a little choked up when he sees the National Mall filled with people all cheering for him and the values he represents.

Sometimes it still hits him. 

_I’m President of the United States_. _The leader of the free world._

It’s a little ridiculous. 

“Hey, earth to President Washington,” Alex says, squeezing George’s hand. 

George looks over at Alex and blinks in confusion. “Yeah?” 

“We’re back at the White House, love. You need to get out of the car.”

George smiles sheepishly and slides out of the car. 

“Sorry. I’m just a little… overwhelmed.” 

“What do you mean?” Alex asks, grabbing George’s hand and lacing their fingers. 

“I mean… All those people out on the mall and lining the parade route? They were there for me… for our administration. That’s just—I don’t know. It still hits me sometimes that I’m president.”

Alex laughs, a beautiful melodic sound, and squeezes George’s hand. “You’re so cute, George.” 

George narrows his eyes and jokingly huffs. “I am not _cute_. I’m not some 15 year old girl,” George grumbles. Alex rolls his eyes and tugs George into their bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. 

“No, you’re a 39 year old man, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be cute,” Alex murmurs as he starts to undo George’s tie. “You’re cute because you’ve got a sweet little closed-mouth smile you use when you’re shy, and you’re so oblivious to your own charm. It’s amazing.” Alex kisses George, slowly walking him backward toward the bed. “You’re cute because you have a soft, comfy stomach and nice hips that I can hold onto, and you make these adorable panting noises whenever I eat you out that make me want to literally die.”

George’s face feels like it’s on fire, but then the backs of his legs hit the bed and Alex grins, his breath tickling George’s ear when he leans in close. “And you’re oh so cute when you’re begging for my cock, begging for me to let you take it like the good boy you are.”

A groan rumbles low in George’s throat and he tries to blink away the fogginess in his brain. They have to get ready for the inaugural ball. 

“Alex,” he manages to say, biting back a whimper as Alex sticks his leg in between George’s thighs. 

“Yes?” Alex purrs as he presses a kiss to George’s neck. 

“We have to get ready for the, ah, the ball,” George pants as Alex pushes his leg up against George’s crotch. 

“But I’m having so much fun right here,” Alex whines. 

“Alex,” George sighs, choking off into a moan when Alex slides down to his knees and mouths along the bulge in George’s pants. “We, _fuck_ , we have to get ready to go.”

Alex just grins up at him and starts to undo George’s belt. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good?” he whispers as he pulls George’s cock out. “I just want to show you how much I love you, George. Can’t I do that?”

George’s toes curl in his shoes when Alex starts to tease the head of his cock, flicking his tongue over the slit. 

“Baby, no,” George groans. “Please, we have to go.”

Alex just wraps his lips around George’s cock and swallows him down, letting out a moan that vibrates down George’s cock. 

George groans and grabs the blankets, wrinkling them in his fingers as Alex goes at it, licking long stripes up George’s cock before tonguing the head over into his cheek. George barely bites back a moan as Alex pulls off and laps at the precum pearling at the tip. 

Then there’s a knock on the door and they both stiffen. 

“George? It’s Gilbert. You two almost ready?” 

“Almost!” George says, his voice coming out high-pitched and strained.

There’s a pause on the other side of the door and they both hear Lafayette heave a sigh. “Get your God damn pants back on, George. You need to be downstairs in five minutes, and you better not smell like sex.”

Alex hollows his cheeks and sucks hard right at that moment and George comes down his throat. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be down Gil!” Alex says after pulling off of George’s cock, cum and saliva shiny on his chin. 

George slumps back onto the bed and reaches forward for Alex. “Let me—You didn’t?”

Alex just shoves his pants down and starts to furiously jack off. In his haze, George manages to sit up and smile lazily at Alex. “C’mon baby, let me see you come for me.” 

That seems to do it and Alex grunts, quickly cupping his hands under his cock to catch the spurts of his cum. 

When they’re finished and cleaned up, spraying themselves with cologne and brushing their teeth, George takes a moment to just hold Alex against his chest. They breathe in tandem, heartbeats in sync, before Alex pulls out of the hug and they get into their tuxes. 

They’re only seven minutes late. Could be worse. 

*******

There have been very few times in his life when Alex Hamilton has felt beautiful. Hot? Sure. Sexy? Definitely. But beautiful? He doesn’t often feel very beautiful. 

But Alex feels beautiful tonight. George and he walk into the inaugural ball, both looking impeccable and handsome in their tuxes, and everyone cheers. George, forever bashful, smiles sheepishly, but Alex can’t keep a big shit-eating grin off his face. 

He never thought, in a million years, that he would be publicly dancing in George’s arms, drowning in the oaky scent of his cologne. Alex breathes in and sighs happily. George’s arms are so safe and warm around him and, even though his hand is a little sweaty, Alex still squeezes it as they hold their joined hands aloft. George leads him gracefully across the stage, obviously a skilled dancer, and Alex kisses his ear. 

“You’re a wonderful dancer, George,” he murmurs. George chuckles against his neck. 

“It’s because I have the best dance partner in the world.” 

They continue their slow, beautiful dance, and Alex is almost sad when the song ends, but then George loops his arm around his waist and kisses him chastely on the cheek before they leave the stage and join the throng of party-goers, easily finding Lafayette in the crowd. 

“That was beautiful,” he enthuses as he and Adrienne hand them each a drink. “Now drink up and enjoy yourselves. It’s your night.” 

Alex grins and raises his glass. “To George,” he says. Lafayette and Adrienne echo him and they all clink their glasses, George smiling shyly the whole time. 

They continue to bounce around the party, clinging to each other and giggling. They dance more, sometimes with other people, but mostly with each other. George barely lets go of Alex’s hand, almost like he’s making up for lost time—all the parties and events they’ve had to endure apart. 

When Angelica finally tugs George away from him, Alex stands off to the side of the dance floor and watches them, surveying the crowd as he sips on a gin and tonic. 

He startles when Thomas Jefferson walks up, smiling almost apologetically as if his presence is a nuisance to Alex. Alex smiles openly to show that there’s no bad blood. 

“Hello Senator,” Alex says pleasantly. “It’s nice to see you. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Jefferson bites his lip before offering up an actual, real smile. It suits him. 

“Jemmy and I are trying to project more bipartisan cooperation. Plus, these parties are fun as hell.”

Alex chuckles and nods. “Yeah they sure are. They’re even better now that I can dance with George. He’s an amazing dancer.”

Jefferson smiles and nods before taking a sip of his drink. “Well, I just wanted to say congratulations. You two deserve the White House. If Jemmy had to lose to someone, I’m glad it was you and the president.”

Alex laughs and pats Jefferson on the back. “Thank you Senator.” Alex pauses and clears his throat. “For everything. We couldn’t have done this without you and Congressman Madison.”

Jefferson nods and squeezes Alex’s shoulder. “George Washington deserves to be happy. And so do you, for that matter.” 

He turns to go but Alex’s words stop him: “You and Congressman Madison deserve to be happy too.”

“Thank you Mr. Hamilton,” he says, slowly turning back around to look at Alex. His eyes are misty with unshed tears. “Have a nice evening.”

Alex smiles sadly and watches Jefferson go, elegantly gliding across the floor as he disappears into the crowd. 

As George walks up and sweeps Alex into his arms, Alex marvels at how lucky he is. They were at the brink of ruin a few months ago, and now they’re here. Together, safe in each other’s arms. 

It sure as hell hasn’t been smooth sailing, but  _true love never did run smooth._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented/left kudos/read this fic!! I was honestly very reluctant to write this fic b/c I didn't want it to suck, so I'm really glad everyone has enjoyed it!
> 
> That last sentence is partly a Shakespeare quote from "A Midsummer Night's Dream"


End file.
